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COPYRIGHT OFFICE. 


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as a preliminary to copyright protec- 
tion has been found. ^ ^ 1 * - }$ ^ 


Forwarded to Order Divisi 



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(Date) / 


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(Apr. 5, 1901—5,000.) 



Class 

Book _ .\A 5 \AA~y 

Copyright N° 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





THE YOUNG PEOPLE ON THE LAKE 

SEE PAGE 66 



Philip Barton’s Secret 


/ 

BY MRS. MAY ANDERSON HAWKINS 
AUTHOR OF 

“JACK PEYTON AND HIS FRIENDS" 
AND OTHER STORIES 





Cincinnati : Curts & Jennings 
New York: Eaton & Mains 
J898 


RR6T OOPY, 



COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY 
CURTS AND JENNINGS 




// ovoc-: Of ^ 



of CoVl^f 


TR; 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED* 






TO MY ONLY SON 
AND TO THE YOUTH OF THE LAND 
ESPECIALLY TO THOSE OF OUR OWN 
DEAR SOUTHLAND 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 



Contents 


CHAPTER 







PAGE 

I 

Two Roads 

_ 

_ 


. 


- 

7 

II 

A Shadow - 


- 

- 


- 


15 

III 

A Painful Surprise - 

_ 

- 


_ 


- 

23 

IV 

New Experiences 


- 

- 


- 


30 

V 

In the Shop and Out 

- 

- 


- 


- 

37 

VI 

Contrasts - 


- 

- 


- 


45 

VII 

Adrift - 

- 

- 


_ 


- 

53 

VIII 

On the Lake 


- 

- 


- 


60 

IX 

A Trying Moment - 

_ 

- 


- 


- 

68 

X 

Temptation - 


- 

- 


- 


75 

XI 

Them that Honor Me, 

I 

WILL 

Honor 

- 

85 

XII 

Danger - 


- 

- 


- 


93 

XIII 

In the Wee Sma’ Hours 

- 

- 


- 


- 

IOI 

XIV 

Discomfited 


- 

- 


- 


109 

XV 

On Skates 

- 

- 


- 


- 

1 16 

XVI 

A Narrow Escape 


- 

- 


- 


123 

XVII 

Tightening Meshes 

- 

- 


- 


- 

130 

XVIII 

Missing - 


- 

- 


- 


138 

XIX 

Disgraced 

- 

- 


- 


- 

145 

XX 

At Hell’s Gap - 


- 

- 


- 


152 

XXI 

On the Lake and in It 

- 


- 


- 

160 

XXII 

Midnight on the Pier 


- 

- 


- 


167 

XXIII 

Under Guard 

- 

- 


- 


- 

174 

XXIV 

A Contrite Heart 


- 

- 


- 


181 

XXV 

A Welcome Letter 

- 

- 


- 


- 

188 

XXVI 

Summoned Home 


- 

- 


- 


195 

XXVII 

At Home 

- 

- 


- 


- 

203 

XXVIII 

The Dark Valley 


- 

- 


- 


209 

XXIX 

A Vow - 

- 

- 


- 


- 

216 

XXX 

At the Chapel Door 


_ 

_ 


-« 


222 


Illustrations 


The Young People on the Lake 
Carl conducting Sam to his Room 
Ralph Weston and Fred Lewis on the Pier 
Dr. Phelps and Carl at the Bedside - 

6 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 

1 12 
174 
210 


Philip Barton's Secret 


CHAPTER I 

TWO ROADS 

HTHE great machine-shop at Ridley blew the 
1 whistle for noon. Tired workers drew a 
long breath of relief. That sharp, piercing 
sound was music to them. It meant an hour’s 
freedom for dinner and rest. The whirr of the 
huge machinery gradually ceased. Crowds of 
grimy-faced men and youths emerged from 
the shop-doors. 

“1 say, Fred, did you know Phil Barton got 
religion last night? True as preachin’.” 

Fred Lewis whistled. He was one of the 
best young workmen in the shop. He was tall 
and fine-looking, in spite of the grime now on 
hands and face. 

His companion, Ned Brown, continued: 

“They got hold of him down at the new 
7 


8 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


mission. He ’s been goin’ there fur quite a 
spell. Last night they hauled him in.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Jake Richey was with him. Says he mos’ 
felt like givin’ in, too. Good preacher they 
got down there. I ’d go myself, only I ’m half 
afeared.” 

Fred laughed quite boisterously. 

“Catch you givin’ in, Ned Brown. The 
old fellow ’s got too tight a grip on you to let 
you go in a hurry. Might as well talk o’ me 
gettin’ good.” 

“That ’s a fac’,” responded Ned, quite 
pleased. “We do n’t b’long to the soft-hearted 
set, do we?” 

“Neither does Phil,” responded the other, 
sharply. “He ’s a reg’lar bulldog. Do n’t see 
how they managed to get hold of him. Hope 
he won’t turn to a milksop. I like Phil.” 

“Hush! here he comes. ’Pears to be in a 
mighty hurry.” 

A young man of about twenty-three years 
of age, in workman’s blouse, and with the 


TWO ROADS 


9 


grime of the machine-shop still upon him, hur- 
ried past. His face was manly and rather 
handsome. Something in the massive square- 
ness of forehead and chin made one think 
Fred’s comparison was apt. 

He nodded pleasantly, but did not pause. 

“Wonder what ’s his hurry. Alius had 
time fur a friendly word afore,” muttered 
Brown. 

He was soon enlightened. 

The young man disappeared in a doorway, 
marked “Mission Chapel.” The sound of 
music floated out on the air. 

“Whew! That’s a new dodge. Meetin’s 
at noon. Supose we turn in, Fred? What ’s 
good for Phil ’ll be good for us,” and he 
grinned. 

“Hush! You ’re a reg’lar magpie. I wish 
Phil had n’t taken up with this foolishness. 
But ’t won’t last.” 

“I do n’t know. What Phil once begins, 
he mos’ generally sticks to. But he ’s the las’ 
man in the shop I ’d ’a’ thought o’ turnin’ 


IO 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


pious. Wonder if he ’ll throw us over, now 
he ’s took up wi’ this new notion?” 


Six months passed. Work continued as 
usual in the great shop. 

A few minutes after the six o’clock evening 
whistle had blown, one drizzling day in early 
September, Ned Brown and Fred Lewis came 
out of the shop-door. They worked side by 
side, and while they were not especially con- 
genial, this fact threw them much together. 
They both lived on the same street, and usu- 
ally walked home in company. 

“What a nasty day! I want something to 
wake me up. Let ’s go ’round to Brady’s, and 
play a game, after supper?” 

It was Ned who spoke. 

“All right. Here comes Phil. Perhaps 
he ’ll go with us. He plays a good hand, you 
know.” 

“Not he. He ’s got too good since he 
joined the Church, to be seen goin’ ’round wi’ 


TWO TOADS 


II 


us. No use askin’ him.” There was a sneer 
on Ned’s lip as he spoke. 

“You do ’nt know what you ’re sayin’,” 
Lewis angrily replied. “Phil ’s no more up- 
pish than I be. And I ’m goin’ to ask him. I 
like Phil.” 

“All right. I ’ll go on. I can’t stop,” said 
Brown. He did not care to be with Fred when 
the latter was in an ill-humor. 

“I ’ll call for you after supper,” he added, 
as he turned away. 

“Very well. I ’ll be ready.” 

When invited to join them, young Barton 
declined. 

“Have n’t time,” was his excuse. 

“What are you up to, anyway, old fellow?” 
said Lewis. “I never see you at any of the 
loafing-places any more.” 

“Come with me to-night, and I will show 
you. I wish you would come, Lewis,” and 
Phil laid his hand on Fred’s shoulder. 

Lewis shook his head. 

“You ’re going down hill, Fred. That ’s 


12 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


not safe. Mend your grammar a bit, and 
brush up, and I ’ll take you where you ’ll have 
a pleasant evening.” 

Fred laughed. 

“I can have a nice time without changing 
my grammar or my clothes, either. What has 
come over you, anyway, Phil? You are so 
different.” 

It was noticeable that Fred’s speech 
changed with his companions. He came from 
a higher class than Ned Brown, and at home 
his associations were not devoid of refine- 
ment. 

“Why, God has made a new man out of me, 
Fred,” responded Phil, smiling. “And he 
stands by me all the time, and keeps me 
straight. I ’m just the happiest fellow on the 
globe, these days.” 

Fred said nothing, but looked intently into 
his companion’s face. 

“Do n’t go with Brown so much, Fred,” 
urged Phil, after a moment’s silence. “He ’s 
bad. Mr. Weston does n’t half trust him. 


TWO HOADS 


13 


And do n’t go to Brady’s. You know the 
firm’s rule.” 

The firm of Weston & Company, while not 
a religious one, made it one of their rules that 
no workman in their employ should frequent 
saloons or gambling-houses. 

“But they ’ll never know,” responded Fred. 
“And a glass, now and then, and a jolly game, 
can’t hurt.” 

“Yes, but they will know. And you are 
breaking rules too often. Mr. Weston would 
dismiss you to-morrow if he knew you fre- 
quented that place,” urged Phil. 

“You are a pretty one to preach. The first 
time I ever went there, you took me.” 

“I know it, and I would give a year’s wages 
to have that wiped out. Give up Ned and 
Brady, Fred, and come with me.” 

“No. I ’ll go my way, and you can go 
yours,” he said, sulkily, and walked away. 

Philip stood for a moment and looked after 
him. There was a troubled look in his frank 
blue eyes. 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


H 


“If one could only recall the past,” he 
thought bitterly. “Fred is going to ruin 
about as fast as possible. I was the first one 
who turned him in that direction. That ’ s not 
a pleasant thought to go to sleep on.” 


CHAPTER II 


A SHADOW 

“IOOK! there they come. And Carl’s boat 
is ahead.” Mr. Bachman, as he spoke, 
laid his hand upon his young friend’s shoulder. 
His strong face looked exultant, and Ralph 
Weston smiled as he said: 

“No wonder you are pleased. He handles 
his oars marvelously well. My father wrote 
me he was a fine fellow. I see he was right.” 

People about them began to cheer, and en- 
thusiastic cries of “Bachman! Bachman!” 
came from a body of youths who were press- 
ing close to the spot where stood Mr. Bach- 
man and his friend. 

“They are his classmates,” the elder man 
explained, in answer to an inquiring glance 
from the other. 

The two contesting boats were now near 
the bridge, upon which were grouped the spec- 
15 


1 6 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

tators. As they shot into the little cove, which 
ended the race, Carl Bachman’s skiff was its 
full-length in advance of his rival’s. 

Very modestly the young oarsman received 
the congratulations of his friends. His class- 
mates gathered about him, laughing and ex- 
uberant, some fanning his flushed face with 
their straw hats, and others jestingly offering 
to take off their coats and loan to him, if he 
felt chilly. 

It was only when his eye caught his father’s 
smiling face that he seemed really moved. 

“Why, father! I did not think you cared 
enough for such things to come out this hot 
morning,” he said, with a happy light mantling 
his face. 

“If it was not too hot for you to row, it was 
not too hot for me to watch you,” Mr. Bach- 
man replied. Then, placing one hand upon his 
boy’s shoulder, and the other upon the arm of 
his friend, he said: 

“Carl, this is Mr. Ralph Weston, the son 
of my dear old friend and classmate, John 


A SHADOW 


17 


Weston, whom you know. He is just back 
from a three years’ trip abroad. He ended 
with Cuba, and has stopped to see us on his 
way north.” 

With boyish pleasure Carl gazed into the 
handsome face of the young man before him. 
This pleasure was not diminished when Ralph 
Weston said, in response to the young oars- 
man’s cordial greeting: 

“I consider myself fortunate in having 
reached your city in season to witness your 
feat in rowing. I never saw anything hand- 
somer. Your rival did well; but he was no 
match against your skill and endurance.” 

These words, spoken in all sincerity, to- 
gether with the young man’s prepossessing 
face and manners, instantly won Carl’s heart. 
From that moment he became a loyal and ad- 
miring friend of the young Northerner. 

John Bachman was a man of wealth and 
influence in the city of Nashville, Tennessee. 
He was the head of a large manufacturing 
firm, in which he fondly hoped to see Carl, 


1 8 PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 

who was his only child, his successor. The 
boy was between seventeen and eighteen years 
of age. His mother often said of him: 

“He is all that I could possibly desire a son 
to be.” 

The boy’s feat in rowing was the result of 
a boat-race gotten up by the students of two 
rival schools. Each had a favorite “man” to 
put forward, and both sides felt sure their 
especial champion would win the honors of the 
day. 

It was early in September, and the colleges 
would open the following week. The race had 
been arranged for this date, rather than later, 
because the parents of one of the competitors 
were not willing that their boy should spend 
time and strength upon a contest of this kind 
during school-term. 

The trial of the skill and muscle of the two 
chosen oarsmen had attracted sufficient local 
attention to bring half a hundred spectators, 
besides those students who were residents of 
the city, to the river front, to witness the race. 


A SHADOW 


19 


That night, while Carl and his mother were 
enjoying their usual twilight talk, seated upon 
the piazza of their elegant suburban home, 
Ralph Weston joined them, followed by Mr. 
Bachman. Conversation naturally turned 
upon young Weston’s trip abroad; and as his 
host and hostess had spent some time in travel 
early in their wedded life, question and coun- 
ter-question, interspersed with pleasing remi- 
niscences, filled the hour with keen interest to 
each one in the little group. 

“Naturally, Germany was my favorite 
camping-ground,” Mr. Bachman at last said. 
“Had my wife consented, I should have been 
glad to have spent a year or two there in 
study.” 

A quick glance towards Mrs. Bachman 
from their guest’s questioning eyes, caused her 
husband to say, with a light laugh : 

“My German ancestry has always, been a 
grief to Mrs. Bachman, for with it she insists 
I inherited certain views which she considers 
dangerous.” 


20 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


Under the bright electric-light, young 
Weston instantly caught an expression upon 
the sweet and refined face of his hostess which 
told him that the subject just broached was no 
laughing matter with her. He turned the con- 
versation by asking Carl “what he intended 
to do with his life.” 

The boy hesitated before replying, and the 
young man said: 

“Perhaps you have not yet given the sub- 
ject serious thought. At your age I am sure 
my mind had never traveled beyond the pleas- 
ure of the present time. But something in 
your face made me think that your nature was 
less volatile than mine.” 

“I hope to preach the gospel/’ Carl said at 
last, in a low but clear voice. 

Ralph Weston was too much surprised by 
this answer to utter a word in response. He 
was a gay worldling; nay, worse: he had im- 
bibed from a skeptical father the seeds of un- 
belief towards all Biblical religion. 

“Is it possible, Carl, that you still hold to 


A SHADOW 


21 


that nonsense?” Mr. Bachman asked, with 
surprise and displeasure in both face and tone. 
“I thought that your boating exploits and 
your feats in the gymnasium had driven all 
such foolishness out of your head.” 

Before Carl could reply, his father arose 
and abruptly left the piazza. An awkward 
silence fell upon the little group, and young 
Weston soon bade mother and son good- 
night, saying it was time he was at his hotel. 

As their visitor passed out of sight, Carl 
slipped his hand into his mother’s. Mrs. Bach- 
man pressed it gently, and said, as she looked 
into his face, which wore an expression of 
keen distress: 

‘‘Do n’t mind it, dear. There may be a 
struggle, but God will stand by you if you 
are true. Remember his words to Joshua: ‘I 
will be with thee; I will not fail thee nor for- 
sake thee. Be strong and of good courage.’ ” 

“But did you notice how angrily he looked 
at us both?” the boy whispered. “I never saw 
him show so much feeling before. I am afraid 


22 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


he will never consent to my becoming a min- 
ister.” 

“If God has sealed you for this high and 
holy calling, as you believe, he will sweep all 
obstacles from your path,” his mother re- 
sponded. “The hearts of kings are as wax in 
his hands. He can melt and change your 
father in one short hour, so that he will not 
only consent, but will consider it a sweet privi- 
lege to give his son to tell of Christ to a per- 
ishing world. Put your trust unwaveringly in 
God, my son, and all will be well.” 


CHAPTER III 


A PAINFUL SURPRISE 

7YT breakfast next morning Mr. Bachman 
was silent and moody. Many times Carl 
caught his gaze resting upon him, with an ex- 
pression that he could not fathom. The affec- 
tion between father and son was unusually 
strong. Upon all points but one their inter- 
course was frank and delightful. But when- 
ever the subject of personal religion was 
broached, Mr. Bachman always maintained a 
guarded silence. 

In the years of his earlier religious life this 
had puzzled the lad; but as he grew older he 
learned to understand that his father held 
views which were considered by his mother 
and her pastor as unorthodox. That he was 
an avowed infidel and atheist, Carl did not sus- 
pect. Neither did he dream of the unrelenting 

purpose of his heart that his only son and heir 
23 


24 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


should not, as he expressed it, “be trammeled 
with any baseless and unnatural superstition.” 
It was thus that he spoke of all evangelical re- 
ligion. 

For four years Carl had been preparing, in 
one of the best schools of the city, to enter 
Vanderbilt University. This year was to see 
his wish realized. 

Seeing that his father would not enter into 
conversation, the lad turned to his mother, as 
the morning meal progressed, and said: 

“Two more of Mr. Wallace’s boys are going 
to enter our Freshman class. Rob McNeil 
and Stewart Hunter were going to Pantops, 
but their fathers have decided that Vanderbilt 
is better. There will be sixteen of us. We ’ll 
make a jolly crowd.” 

“Vanderbilt University grows in popular- 
ity every year,” Mrs. Bachman replied. “I am 
glad and thankful for its presence in our city. 
Were it elsewhere, my boy would have to be 
sent from home, and I scarcely see how I could 
bear the separation.” 


A PAINFUL SURPRISE 


25 


The fond glance that she bent upon Carl as 
she thus spoke, showed how tender was the 
tie that bound them together. 

“Do not set your heart too strongly upon 
entering Vanderbilt,” Mr. Bachman now said, 
again giving his son one of those strange 
glances which sent a feeling of indefinable 
dread to the boy’s heart. 

“Why, father, I thought that was all set- 
tled,” Carl answered, in surprise. “All my 
arrangements are made, and the university 
opens next Wednesday.” 

“Did you never hear the old adage, ‘There 
is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip?’ ” was 
Mr. Bachman’s significant reply. “Hold your- 
self in readiness for anything, then you will 
not be taken by surprise.” 

As he thus spoke, he arose from the table, 
and passed from the room. 

That morning when Ralph Weston called, 
prior to taking the train for his Northern 
home, Mr. Bachman led him into the library. 
For an hour he held him there in close conver- 


26 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


sation, and as the young man came out he 
said : 

“When shall I hear from you?” 

“You may expect a telegram by to-morrow 
night or next morning. It will be all right, I 
am sure. My father will consider it a privilege 
to serve you.” 

Mrs. Bachman, who was in the hall at the 
moment, looked troubled as she caught these 
words. 

None knew so well as she her husband’s 
ever-deepening dislike for the Church and its 
teachings. In some way she felt that Carl’s 
future was being settled without reference to 
her or her desires, and she feared that some 
plan for separating her boy from her was being 
formed. Mr. Bachman’s words to Carl at the 
breakfast-table indicated this. 

She was not long left in doubt. Two even- 
ings later, after tea, her husband placed his 
hand upon Carl’s shoulder, and said: 

“Day after to-morrow, my boy, you will 
start for Ridley. I have arranged for you to 


A PAINFUL SURPRISE 


2 7 


enter Norwood College. It is one of the finest 
of which I know. Ralph Weston won his de- 
gree there. What was good enough for John 
Weston’s son is good enough for mine.” 

“But, father — ” began Carl, pain and sur- 
prise almost choking his utterance. 

“We need not waste words in discussing the 
matter,” Mr. Bachman hastily interrupted. “I 
have done what seemed to me best. You will 
become a member of John Weston’s family. 
This will be more pleasant for you than to be 
wholly among strangers, as would be the case 
were you to become a boarder in the college. 
You know and like both Mr. Weston and 
Ralph. Miss Cornelia Weston, who has had 
charge of her brother’s household ever since 
Mrs. Weston’s death, is a refined and cultured 
lady. So far as possible, she will try to fill 
your mother’s place while you are away from 
us. I have no doubt but that your life at Rid- 
ley will be a very happy one.” 

With pale cheeks and trembling lips, Mrs. 
Bachman approached her husband. “John,” 


28 


PHILIP PAP TOW'S SECRET 


she said, in a voice she strove in vain to make 
steady, “why do you thus hastily part me from 
my boy? What has changed your mind about 
placing Carl in Vanderbilt?” 

A steel-like glitter came into her husband’s 
handsome eyes, as he replied: 

“Something powerful enough to cause me 
to prefer seeing him dead at my feet ere I 
would permit him to enter that college.” He 
paused a moment, and then, with a glance at 
Carl, added: 

“No earthly consideration would induce me 
to think of allowing the superstitious errors 
there taught to be instilled into the mind of 
my boy.” 

His wife knew that aJl appeal would be in 
vain. She pressed her hand over her eyes for 
a moment, and then turned to Carl, trying to 
force a smile. 

“We will have no time to lose, darling. 
There are many things that must be done be- 
fore you go, and the hours run swiftly.” 

Her brave self-control nerved the boy to 


A PAINFUL SURPRISE 


29 


hide his own suffering in order to support her. 
He went swiftly to her side, and threw an arm 
affectionately over her shoulder as he re- 
sponded: 

“You must let me help you, mother, in 
every way that I can. ,, 

They passed from the room, and Mr. Bach- 
man, with compressed lips, seated himself in 
his easy-chair. He knew that Carl's heart was 
hot with indignation against him, and the fact 
caused him acute pain. But he did not for a 
moment waver in his purpose. 

He was a man of inflexible will, and when 
once his mind was settled upon any course he 
considered wise and right, no human being 
had power to change him. 


CHAPTER IY 


NEW EXPERIENCES 

\ V /E will not linger over those last few days 
* * before mother and son, for the first time 
in their lives, were separated. Many tears 
dropped silently over the garments Mrs. Bach- 
man’s loving hands placed in her boy’s trunk; 
but in his presence she was always calm and 
smiling. 

As she kissed him good-bye in her own 
room, away from all curious eyes, she slipped 
a beautifully-bound pocket Bible into his hand. 

“Your large one is packed in your trunk. 
This will be more convenient to handle. You 
will read in it every day, darling, will you not, 
no matter how full your time may be?” 

“Yes, mother,” he replied, in a choking 
voice. 

Then she passed her arm about his neck, 

and together they knelt by the bed, and she 
30 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


31 


committed him to the care of the tender Shep- 
herd whose trusting lamb he had been for the 
past five years. 

As they arose, her eyes were bright and 
clear, and she placed both hands in silent bene- 
diction upon his bowed head. He pressed a 
long, quivering kiss upon her lips, and as he 
went down the stairs his eyes were so dimmed 
with tears that he could not see his way. He 
brushed them aside before he met his father, 
who was going with him to the train. 

As the sound of the carriage-wheels which 
bore them to the depot died away, the heroic 
mother cast herself again upon her knees be- 
side the couch. An agony of grief swept over 
her, which she did not strive to quell. All need 
for self-restraint was now removed, and her 
heart was free to take in the bitter pain of 
separation from her boy. No one but a 
mother who loves her son with the intense 
devotion that Mrs. Bachman lavished upon 
Carl can understand the anguish of that hour. 

At the depot, Mr. Bachman drew Carl 


32 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


aside, as the train which was to bear the boy 
away drew near. 

“My boy,” he said, in a strangely gentle 
voice, “you know, do you not, that you are 
the dearest object upon earth to your father’s 
heart?” 

Carl looked into his face, and as he read the 
deep love there, he replied: 

“Yes, sir; I am sure you love me.” Then 
he briefly added: “But this hasty sending me 
from home, father, was cruel. My mother’s 
heart is almost broken.” 

“It was best for you to go,” Mr. Bachman 
answered. “Some day you will see why. I 
do not expect you to understand this now.” 

There was no time for further words. A 
moment later Carl was being whirled away 
into the night, and Mr. Bachman stood look- 
ing after the train with a keen consciousness 
in his heart that his only son had parted from 
him with less apparent pain than it had cost 
the boy to leave his pet spaniel. 

At Ridley, both Mr. Weston and Ralph met 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


33 


Carl at the depot. This was a surprise as well 
as a deep pleasure to the lonely boy. He at 
once lost the painful sense of isolation which 
had stabbed him keenly during the journey, 
and his heart went out anew to Ralph. Mr. 
Weston he had always known and liked, al- 
though he stood somewhat in awe of him. 
His manners were rather stern, and there was 
a certain cynicism about him which, while it 
interested, did not tend to make people feel 
at home with him. 

He was so kind and cordial now, however, 
that Carl congratulated himself that he was to 
become a member of his family rather than 
to go among strangers. 

Even the stately Miss Weston gave the 
young stranger such a kindly welcome that 
he at once lost his shyness, and began to ex- 
perience a homelike feeling stealing over him, 
which amazed and delighted him. 

A pretty little maid of fourteen, whom 
Ralph introduced as his “madcap cousin from 
the Rockies, Minnie Taswell, ,, completed the 
3 


34 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


members of the home circle into which Carl 
had been so suddenly and unexpectedly intro- 
duced. 

He found that college did not open for two 
days, and while this fact deepened his wounded 
feelings toward his father, who had hurried 
him from home without visible reason, it gave 
the boy an opportunity to become acquainted 
with his new surroundings before he settled 
down to his studies. 

Ralph invited him to accompany him on a 
tour of inspection through the great machine- 
shop of Weston & Company, saying, with a 
laugh: 

“As my life, for the future, is to be hidden 
in that shop, the sooner I become accustomed 
to its noise and grime, the better.” 

Carl gladly accompanied him, for ma- 
chinery had a powerful fascination for him. 
This fact had led Mr. Bachman to believe that 
his son’s life-work would be to step into his 
father’s place, and continue the business, which 
was at once both important and lucrative. 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


35 


No doubt this hope deepened the chagrin 
with which Carl’s avowed desire to preach the 
gospel had filled him. 

It was a pleasant afternoon that the boy- 
spent in the shop, following Ralph from place 
to place, and entering into conversation with 
the workmen, now and again, as a face at- 
tracted him. Both he and young Weston 
noticed one man especially. This man was 
Philip Barton. What it was about him that 
drew their attention so closely neither could 
have explained. They found themselves 
standing beside him, however, studying his 
frank countenance, and listening to his brief 
replies to the questions they asked him, with 
so deep an interest that the closing bell sur- 
prised them. 

“1 hope we have not troubled you,” Ralph 
said, apologetically, when he found how long 
they had lingered. 

“O no! Come around whenever you 
please. Visitors are always welcome, and it 
is a rare pleasure to have Mr. Weston’s son 


36 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


among us,” was the young mechanic’s cour- 
teous answer. 

“That fellow looks as though he might fit 
into a higher sphere than working behind a 
lathe in a machine-shop/’ Ralph remarked, as 
they turned away. 

“He has a noble face,” Carl responded. 
“And it has such a glow on it.” 

“Yes, that is what struck me. It almost 
seemed as if it threw a light over that part of 
the dingy shop,” young Weston said, with a 
laugh. “I thought it must be my fancy, but 
as you noticed the same thing, I suppose the 
glow must really be there. I wonder why he 
is so happy. The fello^y across from him was 
a fine foil for Barton. He looked as sour and 
bitter as a crab-apple in June,” and again 
Ralph laughed in his light way. 


CHAPTER Y 


IN THE SHOP AND OUT 

HTHAT same evening Ralph Weston was sit- 
ting in his father’s luxurious library, read- 
ing. Carl was also present, interestedly 
examining the rows of handsomely-bound 
books upon the shelves. 

“Father,” Ralph said, very gravely, and 
laying his paper aside, “I am going to settle 
down to business. I have roamed about long 
enough; too long, probably. I do not wish 
to waste any more time.” 

Mr. Weston looked keenly into his son’s 
face. In his earlier years Ralph had scorned 
everything connected with the great shop; yet 
he had known that this shop was the pride of 
his father’s heart. 

“What line of work have you chosen?” he 
asked. 

“Your career, father, is good enough for 
37 


38 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


me. I find that I quite like the whirr of the 
huge machinery now, and there is a curious 
fascination about the shop and the workmen. 
If your partner will sell his interest in the busi- 
ness, I will buy him out, and you may change 
the firm name to Weston & Son. I recall that 
this was a pet plan of yours years ago, be- 
fore I had sense enough to know a good thing 
when I saw it.” 

Mr. Weston made no reply, but Carl 
noticed a satisfied sparkle in his eye which 
spoke volumes. 

After sitting silently lost in thought for 
a while, Ralph asked: 

“Who and what is young Barton? He in- 
terests me.” 

“O, he ’s just an ordinary workman. 
Trusty, though.” 

“But there is something in his face, father, 
that puzzles me. A sort of light. Have you 
noticed it?” 

Mr. Weston nodded, but was silent. 

Carl ceased his examination of the books, 


IN THE SHOP AND OUT 


39 


and quietly took a seat where he could view 
the faces of both speakers. Their conversation 
deeply interested him. 

“It baffles and worries me,” continued the 
young man. “It says to me that, common and 
poor as he is, he has found some happiness, 
some secret, that I, with all my advantages, 
have missed. What is it?” 

“That expression has come to him within 
the last six months. Up to that time he usu- 
ally looked morose, much like a bull-dog,” 
was Mr. Weston’s reply. 

“What has changed him?’ persisted his son. 

A cynical smile curved the elder man’s lips. 
“About that date Barton joined the Church. 
There are those who would tell you that this 
is what changed him.” 

Young Weston laughed derisively. 

“What absurdity, father! Church mem- 
bers, as I have usually found them, are a set 
of hypocrites. They talk one way, and live 
another. They declare that they are lifted 
above the miseries of this life, yet they are the 


40 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


most unhappy looking people on earth. Ha! 
ha! It is something more than religion that 
makes that fellow’s face shine.” 

Carl shaded his eyes with his hand to hide 
his emotion. He was recalling his mother’s 
countenance, in which the inner light of Christ 
so shone that it made it seem almost divine. 
He had recognized the same light, in lesser 
degree, in Philip Barton. 

Mr. Weston tapped his hand lightly upon 
the arm of his chair as he said: 

“The same person who would tell you that 
Barton’s joining the Church had changed him 
might also suggest that perhaps there are dif- 
ferent kinds of religion in the world. You and 
I may not have been fortunate in the speci- 
mens that have come under our notice.” 

Again Ralph Watson laughed; but he made 
no reply, except to shrug his shoulders. 

“Barton is a fine fellow,” Mr. Weston con- 
tinued. “He will turn out well if he does not 
get cranky. But he troubles me. H$ is being 


IN THE SHOP AND OUT 


41 


drawn in by a lot of fanatics. If it goes on, I 
may have to dismiss him. I have no patience 
with enthusiasts and fools.” 

The very next day Philip Barton sought his 
employer’s presence. 

It was Saturday. Upon this day the firm 
always gave a half-holiday. Tickets were pre- 
sented, stating that a certain number of hours* 
work had been performed each day. To save 
trouble and confusion, the Saturday tickets 
bore the same number of hours’ work per- 
formed as the rest. Of course, however, only 
half the number of hours were given to labor 
as on other days. 

Young Barton now said, with a troubled 
look in his eyes: 

“This ticket does not seem honest, Mr. 
Weston. It says I have worked ten hours, 
when the fact is, I have only worked five.” 

“But we all understand that, Barton. 
Do n’t be quixotic.” 

Mr. Weston’s tone was impatient. 


42 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

“But, sir, I can't sign it. It is not true. 
Won’t you let me state just the number of 
hours I have worked?” 

“No, unless you want your wages cut down 
accordingly. Do n’t say anything more. I 
am busy.” 

The young man turned away with droop- 
ing head, but with a resolute light leaping to 
his eyes. 

After he was gone, his employer sat idle 
for many minutes, drumming impatiently 
upon his desk with the handle of his pen. 
Ralph, who had been standing just outside 
the door, and had heard the brief colloquy, 
glanced musingly towards the erect figure and 
stern countenance. 

“His temper has not sweetened since the 
old days,” he murmured, turning away. “If 
that young fellow knows on which side his 
bread is buttered he will not cross him often, 
as he has done to-day. My father is not a man 
to be trifled with. I learned that fact some 
years ago.” 


IN THE SHOP AND OUT 


43 


As he sauntered leisurely down the street 
he met Carl Bachman, just returning from a 
stroll through the city. 

“How do you like the looks of our town?’’ 
Ralph interestedly inquired. 

“Pretty well. I will like it better, though, 
when I get used to the quick ways up here. 
We have such an easy manner of getting along 
in the South that your hurry and push fairly 
take my breath away. I feel all tired out, just 
watching other people’s bustle and haste,” and 
Carl laughed pleasantly. 

“Suppose we take a row on the lake to rest 
you,” Ralph suggested. “There is a fine dory 
belonging to father down at the dock, which 
he has handed over to me. Knowing your 
skill with the oars, I shall be pleased for you 
to use it as if it were your own, whenever the 
notion for a row seizes you.” 

Much pleased, Carl accepted this generous 
offer as frankly as it was made. 

The lake was smooth and the afternoon 
perfect, and an hour was spent upon the water 


44 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


with much pleasure to both rowers. Carl 
found that Ralph handled his oars with the 
ease of an experienced sailor. 

As they took turns in using them, the 
young man beguiled the time with many 
pleasing incidents from his travels abroad, to 
which the boy gave interested attention. 

When the family gathered at the supper- 
table that night, Carl met a tall youth of about 
his own age, who was ^presented to him by 
Miss Weston as “our nephew, Samuel Wes- 
ton. His father has sent him to us in order 
that he may enter Norwood. His coming will 
make it more lively for you, Carl, and I hope 
you will become good friends.” 

Carl smiled and bowed, but in his heart he 
felt that the bond of sympathy between him- 
self and this youth would not be strong. 
There was a supercilious smile on the stran- 
ger’s lips which was not prepossessing. 


CHAPTER YI 


CONTRASTS 

’T'HAT evening, when the male members of 
1 the household gathered in the library, 
which was Mr. Weston’s favorite resort, and 
into which his sister and niece rarely came, 
Ralph quietly addressed his father: 

“Do you think, father, that you have set- 
tled young Barton’s scruples?” 

Mr. Weston elevated his eyebrows in sur- 
prise as he said: 

“What scruples? I do n’t understand.” 

“O, I was by the door to-day, and heard 
what he said about the ticket. Do you think 
you have heard the last of the matter?” 

The elder man laughed. 

“I do. His father is dead, his mother is in 
poor health, and there are four younger chil- 
dren. Phil is the only wage-earner. He will 
45 


46 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

think twice before he allows his wages to be 
cut down. It is close living with them as it is.” 

“Do you acquaint yourself with the private 
life of all your men, as you seem to have done 
with Barton?” 

There was curiosity in Ralph’s eyes and 
voice as he asked this question. 

“No. To tell the truth, the young man in- 
terests me deeply. He was inclined to be wild 
until he got mixed up with those mission folks. 
At one time I had my eye on him, thinking to 
discharge him. He had a bad influence over 
one of my best workmen, Fred Lewis. But 
Barton has turned squarely about. It is 
Lewis, now, who is in danger.” 

“I fancy, father, that you believe it is his 
religion that has changed Barton. Am I 
right?” 

This question seemed to disturb Mr. Wes- 
ton. He frowned, and waited a moment be- 
fore he replied, rather irritably: 

“I do n’t know what has changed him. He 


CONTRASTS 


47 


puzzles me. He turned squarely around, just 
about the time he joined the Church. This 
seems rather significant.” 

Ralph looked musingly at the electric-light, 
and presently said: 

“l can not believe his religion has anything 
to do with it. It must be some other influence, 
of which you do not know. He may have 
fallen in love. This has power to change some 
men as nothing else can.” 

“Perhaps so,” assented Mr. Weston. “I 
should like to understand Barton. He is a 
manly fellow. I expect him to make his mark, 
unless he gets too quixotic. His attitude 
about the time-ticket is simply absurd. I 
could not stand much of such nonsense.” 

“Do tell me about it, uncle?” said his 
nephew, who, with Carl, had been a silent list- 
ener to the conversation. “Who is Barton, 
and what ticket are you talking about?” 

For a moment Mr. Weston looked annoyed 
at this interruption, and then the usual cynical 


4 8 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


smile curved his lips as he noticed the youth’s 
expectant face. He replied: 

“You are a perfect edition of your mother, 
Sam. She has more curiosity than any woman 
I know.” 

Then he briefly told what the boy wished 
to hear. 

Carl listened as eagerly as did Sam. He 
had intended to linger only a moment in the 
library before going to his room to write to 
his mother. But the introduction of Philip 
Barton’s name had arrested him, and he waited 
to hear all that was said concerning him. 

Sam gave a mocking laugh as his uncle told 
about the ticket. 

“The fellow must be a fool,” he said, with 
boyish emphasis. And then he laughed again, 
as he added: “I ’d be precious glad, if I were 
in his place, to work only half of every day* 
and still draw full pay. Catch me holding 
back about signing any ticket that would pass 
with the boss, and get the money. Yes, he 
must be a natural fool. I ’d like to see him.” 


CONTRASTS 


49 


These remarks elicited no response from 
Mr. Weston, who only frowned as he took up 
the evening paper, and fell to perusing its 
columns. 

Ralph half closed his eyes as he scrutinized 
Sam’s face and figure for a moment, and then 
dryly remarked: 

“I see you are pitched on the popular key, 
Sam, and intend to look out for number one. 
No danger of you and fellows of Barton’s type 
ever becoming cronies.” 

“I should hope not,” his cousin rejoined, 
“when he is only a common workman, and 
lacks sense besides.” 

Carl now said good-night, and he felt a 
quick thrill of pleasure as Mr. Weston looked 
up from his paper to flash him a keen and 
kindly glance from his gray eyes. Ralph gave 
him a bright smile, and the boy went to his 
room, feeling that father and son were his true 
friends. 

“I wish they were Christians,” he thought, 
and then it flashed over him for the first time 


4 


50 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


that the fact that they were not was probably 
one reason why his father had chosen this 
house for his home while he was away. 

This thought brought a keen sorrow to his 
heart, but he resolutely banished it as he pre- 
pared to settle down to his letter. 

On Sabbath morning, while at breakfast, 
Carl asked: 

“Where do you all attend church?” 

A dead silence followed this question, until 
Minnie Taswell spoke: 

“I am the only one from this house who 
goes to church. I attend the big stone church. 
Dr. Bowman is a splendid minister. I know 
you will like him.” 

“She means that for an invitation for you to 
go to church with her,” Ralph said, with an 
amused smile. “Minnie, although she is a 
little madcap, is also quite a saint. She has 
been lecturing me ever since I came home, 
over my evil ways. She thinks my idle life 
brands me as a reprobate, and my non-church- 


CONTRASTS 


51 


going habit settles the matter of my eternal 
destination. I am glad she has more promis- 
ing material in you, Carl. ,, 

‘‘Well, I do think it is dreadful that not one 
of you ever goes to church,” the girl ex- 
claimed, with troubled eyes. “ I hope Cousin 
Sam and Carl will be different. You will go 
with me every Sunday, won’t you, to Sabbath- 
school and church, too?” And she turned 
anxiously towards Sam. 

“I ’m afraid not,” he said, stifling a yawn. 
“I ’m rather too old for Sunday-school, and 
the preachers are all so dull I can’t listen to 
them.” 

Minnie turned her gaze from him to Carl. 
The latter answered the question he read in 
her eyes: 

“Yes, I will be glad to go with you. What 
time does Sabbath-school open?” 

“At half-past nine. We ’ll have to hurry, or 
we will be late.” 

As they passed together down the street, 


52 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


Sam remarked to Ralph, with something like 
a sneer curling his lip: 

“So he ’s inclined to be pious, is he? 
Father says we would better always watch 
such fellows/' 

“You can watch that chap all you choose, 
but you ’ll find nothing crooked about him. 
He is built on the square plan,” was Ralph’s 
rejoinder, as he turned toward the library. 


CHAPTER YII 


ADRIFT 

HPHE following week, Ralph Weston so ar- 
1 ranged it that he had several long con- 
versations with young Barton. He stood by 
his side while the latter worked, and asked 
many questions about the shop, the work, and 
the workmen. 

Philip liked the friendly young aristocrat, 
and met his advances with frank pleasure. 

“I am but a clumsy fellow,” he said one 
day, when Ralph had admired a piece of work 
upon which he was engaged. “Just watch 
Lewis. His touch is as delicate as a woman's, 
yet his strength is enormous.” 

“Yes. My father tells me Lewis is one of 
the best workmen in the shop. He has a fine 
face; far above the average. But he doesn't 
look contented. Mark that frown on his brow 
at this moment.'' 


53 


54 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


Barton glanced across to where Fred was 
bending over his work; but he made no re- 
sponse to Ralph’s remark. The old, troubled 
look crept into his eyes, and finding him sud- 
denly preoccupied and silent, his visitor soon 
passed on. 

On Saturday, when the pay-hour came, 
Philip Barton walked up to his employer, and 
said, in a respectful but resolute tone: 

“I have signed the ticket, Mr. Weston, for 
just the number of hours I have worked. 
Please tell the foreman to pay me accord- 
ingly.” 

Mr. Weston flushed deeply. He was much 
annoyed. 

“Do you know, Barton, that this is an im- 
pertinence? Your action reflects upon the 
firm, and Causes annoyance. A man has been 
discharged for less than this.” 

“I am very sorry, sir — indeed I am — to 
cause you annoyance. But I really can not 
sign the ticket otherwise than as I have done. 
I should hate to lose my place; but I shall not 


ADRIFT 


55 


complain, sir, if you think best to discharge 
me.”* 

Philip’s face was very pale as he spoke, and 
Ralph, who was purposely standing near, saw 
that the hand which held the ticket trembled. 

For an instant, Mr. Weston hesitated. 
Then he reached for the card. He wrote a 
line across it, and handed it back. 

“You are retained,” he said in a low voice; 
“but your wages are cut down. Let me ad- 
vise you, Barton. Shake yourself loose from 
those mission fanatics. They will make a 
crank out of you. A crank is always a failure.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Weston. You are very 
kind. I will try and be faithful to you, and 
to the interests of the firm.” 

Philip’s lips quivered with emotion as he 
turned away. A moment later such a flash of 
joy irradiated his face that Ralph Weston, 
who was intently watching him, was actually 
startled. 


*This matter of the time-card was an actual oc- 
currence well known to the author. 


56 


PHILIP BAP TON’S SECRET 


What was the secret spring of this young 
workman’s life? 

Ralph’s curiosity led him to ascertain sev- 
eral facts about him during the days that fol- 
lowed. 

Whenever the doors of the Canal Street 
Mission Chapel were open, Barton was there. 
He also found that two evenings during each 
week were spent by Philip in teaching. He 
had gathered together some of the younger 
workmen of the shop, and was striving to im- 
part to them a broader English education than 
they had hitherto enjoyed. 

Barton’s earlier advantages had been su- 
perior to others of his class. His father had 
been a man of fair education, and also with 
some intellectual aspirations. 

One evening Philip stopped Fred Lewis as 
he was leaving the shop. 

“Won’t you join the evening class, Fred? 
I would like you to help me teach the boys. I 
am rather crowded. Come and try it to-night. 
It is pleasant work.” 


ADRIFT 


57 


Lewis laughed cynically. 

“It must be, with such a set of dolts. No, 
thank you! It is not in my line. Besides, I 
have an engagement with Brown.” 

Philip drew a step nearer. 

“Lewis, listen to me, won’t you? Drop 
Brown. I am afraid you are in danger.” 

“Danger of what?” rejoined the other, with 
a sneer. 

“In danger of many things of which you 
do not dream. You go to Brady’s too often. 
The firm will hear of it.” 

“Not unless you peach , ” cried Fred, fiercely. 
“Who made you a spy over me?” 

“I am not a spy, Fred,” Barton answered, 
laying his hand upon the irate young man’s 
arm. “But I love you, and I want to help you. 
Do listen to me, won’t you?” 

“No, I won’t!” was Fred’s reply, as he 
angrily shook off Philip’s hand. “Love me, 
indeed! You are the worst enemy I have, and 
seem determined to dog me out of my position 
at the shop. Now that you have turned out 


58 


PHILIP PAP TON'S SECRET 


so pious, I suppose you will think it your duty 
to inform on the rest of us, who are still in our 
sins. If I lose my place, I will know whom to 
thank for it.” 

Barton stood for a moment, silent. The 
hopelessness of saving Lewis cut him to the 
heart. 

“Ruined, and through me,” was the bitter 
thought that caused a quick mist of tears to 
spring to his eyes. 

The sight of them seemed the last straw 
that made Lewis’s wrath boil over. 

“Hypocrite! Coward!” he hissed. Then 
he turned on his heel, muttering, “Bah! you 
make me sick.” 

The very next week, Ned Brown and Fred 
Lewis were discharged. 

Philip Barton’s face wore a deeply-troubled 
look for many days. Then he sought an inter- 
view with Ralph Weston. What was said 
need not be recorded. 

“It ’s no use, Barton. I understand how 
you feel; but when father makes up his mind, 


ADRIFT 


59 


there ’s no changing him. I ’ll see Lewis, 
though, and have a talk with him.” 

As he spoke, Ralph grasped and held the 
young workman’s hand. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Philip’s eyes looked happier than they had 
done for some days. Then he added, as he 
took his leave: 

“Perhaps a word from you might help him. 
He won’t allow me to come near him. He 
believes me to be the cause of his discharge. 
He is a proud fellow, and this disgrace is hard 
on him. He needs a friend now, if ever a man 
did.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

ON THE LAKE 

/^ARL and Sam, being unavoidably thrown 
^ much together, became better friends than 
the former had conceived possible. In their 
walks to and from college, Carl discovered 
that, though boastful and supercilious, Sam 
possessed a deep love for the beauties of na- 
ture. This proved a bond of sympathy be- 
tween them, and enabled Carl to overlook 
many qualities he did not admire. 

Several times he had taken a row upon the 
lake after college hours, but he had never in- 
vited Sam to accompany him. He felt a keen 
enjoyment in handling the oars and managing 
the boat for himself, and the fascination which 
water always held for him he instinctively 
knew would be marred by Sam’s presence. 

"Cousin Ralph tells me you are an expert 
60 


ON THE LAKE 


61 


with oars,” Sam said to him one Saturday. 
“Suppose we take a row.” 

“Yes, do go, and take me with you. I ’m 
not a bit afraid of the water,” added Minnie, 
who was present. 

Carl good-naturedly assented, after he 
found that her aunt was willing for her to 
accompany them. 

“She is accustomed to the water, having 
spent some time on the Pacific Coast; so I am 
not afraid to trust her on the lake. She is a 
good swimmer, and in case of accident could 
care for herself,” Miss Weston said, affection- 
ately patting the young girl’s shoulder. 

When the trio reached the lake, they found 
the water quite rough. 

“The wind is rather high for rowing,” Carl 
said, doubtfully. “See the whitecaps on the 
waves out there.” 

“O, that ’s nothing,” exclaimed Minnie. 
“It will be fun to have the boat tossed up and 
down on the waves.” 


62 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“Miss Weston vouched for the fact that 
Minnie could swim. Do you also add this to 
your accomplishments ?” Carl asked, with a 
twinkle in his eyes, as he looked at Sam. 

“I do believe you are afraid to go out. I ’m 
not. It is as easy to manage a boat as to eat/’ 
was Sam’s response. 

“I ’m glad you are not afraid of little white- 
caps,” said Minnie, with a fond glance toward 
her cousin. 

“O well, if you insist upon going, I ’m 
ready,” and Carl laughed. “This boat seems 
to be stanch and safe. Do you understand 
rowing?” he asked, turning to Sam. “It will 
take us both to manage the Firefly in such a 
wind as this. And Minnie must mind the 
helm.” 

“Of course I can row. Do you take me for 
a baby?” Sam’s voice was quite scornful. 

They were soon off; an extra pair of oars 
having been brought by Carl from the boat- 
house near by, to which he had the key. 

“You need not begin to row just yet. Wait 


ON THE LAKE 


63 


until we reach rough water. I will tell you 
when to commence,” Carl said, as they started 
out. 

At first the boat went quite smoothly. 
Minnie had little trouble with the tiller, and 
soon learned to manage it nicely. Her cousin 
explained to her the secret of its use, and she 
kept the Firefly pointed towards a small island 
in the lake, on which they had decided to land. 

But soon the boat reached a point where 
the wind had full sway. It heaved the frail 
thing up and down in a manner that delighted 
Minnie, and that made Carl use his oars vigor- 
ously. 

“Tell me when you need my help,” said 
Sam. “I am just aching to swing the oars. I 
believe I have more muscle than you,” and he 
complacently stretched out his arms. 

Carl made no response. He turned his 
head for an instant, and cast his eyes toward 
Stanly Island, the point for which they were 
steering. 

“I wonder why there are no other boats 


64 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


out,” said Minnie, gazing over the dancing 
waves. “O I see one; yes, two; but they are 
going towards the shore.” Then, as the boat 
suddenly plunged sideways in a manner that 
was not altogether satisfactory to the rower, 
she cried, “Isn’t that delightful?” 

“I presume there are not many people who 
care to go out on this lake when the wind is 
so high,” responded Carl, critically watching 
the waves. He was rowing almost directly 
across the wind. 

“Why not?” demanded Sam, with a little 
quiver of fear tugging at his heart. 

Carl laughed as he replied: 

“O, your Cousin Ralph tells me that 'Sil- 
ver-mere,’ in spite of its pretty name, is some- 
times rather naughty, and I suppose the Rid- 
ley people are not so fond of roughing it in a 
stiff wind as are you and your cousin.” 

As they got farther out, the wind increased. 
Whitecaps were all about them. Little sheets 
of spray dashed over them. 

Minnie laughed with delight, and bared her 


ON THE LAKE 


65 


head to the sun and the wind. She seemed a 
born sailor. Carl now understood why Ralph 
had called her his “madcap” cousin. 

Sam tried to imitate her enthusiasm. But 
the Firefly plunged so dizzily that his head 
swam. He began to feel thoroughly uncom- 
fortable, yet he gasped out, forcing a smile: 

“Yes — it 's — quite — jolly.” 

His heart was rapidly sinking, while his 
cousin's spirit was rising with every lurch the 
boat made. 

“Now you may take your oars,” said Carl, 
briefly. “Be careful to pull evenly, and time 
your strokes with mine.” 

Vain command! Sam's oars flew about, 
now in and now out of the water, in a most 
bewildering manner. 

“What 's the matter with your oars?” asked 
Minnie, wonderingly. “You are not helping 
row a bit.” 

“They — they — twist about so,” responded 
her cousin, helplessly. “I can't think what ails 

them.” 

5 


66 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


In spite of his anxiety, Carl burst into a 
laugh. But he controlled himself instantly, 
and said: 

“It ’s not an easy thing to handle oars in 
such rough water as this, especially if one is 
not used to them.” 

“But your oars go as regularly and 
smoothly as clockwork,” commented Minnie. 
“Sam’s fly about like a weathercock.” 

Girls are sometimes merciless in their criti- 
cisms. 

“I — I — it ’s the fault of the oars,” cried 
Sam, desperately. “I see now where the 
trouble is. They are too long for the boat.” 

“They are just the length of Carl’s,” re- 
sponded his cousin, calmly inspecting them. 

“He ’ll get the hang of them directly,” said 
Carl. “Hold them firmly. Dip both at the 
same moment. Not too deep, though.” 

He hastily added this last precaution, upon 
seeing that one of Sam’s oars went down with 
all the nervous power of its owner’s strong 


ON THE LAKE 


6 7 


right arm, while the other skimmed the sur- 
face like a bird. 

The result was, that the boat nearly went 
over. It dipped water, and Minnie hastily 
drew up her feet. 

In doing so, she changed her position, and 
the dory careened dangerously upon the other 
side, and again took in water. 

“Minnie, you must sit still,” cried her 
cousin, excitedly. 

“Yes, it will not do to take any risks in 
such a sea as this,” said Carl, quietly. “You 
might as well put up your oars, Sam. You 
can’t help.” 

Sam did so, with a sigh of relief. 


CHAPTER IX 

A TRYING MOMENT 

“I IOW we are drifting !” exclaimed Minnie. 

“We are away to the right of the island. 
Just awhile ago we were to the left.^ 

“Yes, the wind is too strong for us,” ad- 
mitted Carl. His face was flushed, and his 
breathing labored. 

“Poor fellow! You ’re tired out. It ’s too 
bad Sam said he could row, when he 
could n’t.” 

Her words were both compassionate and 
merciless. This was gall and wormwood to 
her cousin. 

“But I can row at home,” he declared. 
“This is such a choppy sea, the oars get all 
tangled up. I say, Carl,” as a wilder gust 
of wind than before dashed the spray in a 
blinding sheet over them, “what shall we do? 

68 


A TRYING MOMENT 


69 


We ’ll never make the island. Let ’s turn 
back.” 

“We can’t now. We would never reach 
the shore,” was Carl’s reply. 

“If — if — you knew there was danger, you — 
you — sh — should n’t have brought us out,” 
stammered Sam, his lips visibly quivering. 
“I — I ’m not scared for my — myself,” he 
added, fancying he saw a look of scorn in 
Carl’s eyes. “But I — I ’m anxious about M — 
Minnie. If the b — boat goes over, what will 
be — be — be — come of her?” 

“For shame!” cried his cousin, the fire of 
dauntless courage in her glance. “You know 
we persuaded Carl to come out against his 
wishes. If the boat should capsize, we could 
just cling fast to her. I ’ve often read of such 
things. And you know we can all swim.” 

By this time Carl was really exhausted. 
With a few light strokes of his oars he kept 
the boat’s head well up, and gazed critically 
over the foaming waters. 


7 ° 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“If you, Sam, will manage the helm with a 
steady hand, I can guide her, as she needs it, 
with the oars. Your cousin can raise her sun- 
shade for a sail. The wind will carry us into 
that point where you see the opening. It is 
a nice little cove.” 

They did as he directed. Minnie opened 
her large sun-umbrella to catch the wind. 
Sam held the tiller with a strong hand, and 
they bowled merrily toward the shore, west 
of the island. 

The boat plunged dizzily, and sheets of 
spray soon wet the young sailors to the skin. 

A fiercer gust of wind than before turned 
the umbrella inside out, and then tore it from 
Minnie’s grasp. They watched it skim the sur- 
face of the lake like a thing possessed of life. 

“Never mind,” said Carl, dauntlessly. 
“Keep the helm steady, and we shall make the 
point all right.” 

Sam’s teeth chattered with fright and with 
cold, but Minnie and Carl really seemed to en- 
joy the adventure. 


A TRYING MOMENT 


71 


All at once, no one ever knew just how or 
why, the boat plunged sideways for a moment. 
It trembled and quivered like a frightened ani- 
mal, and then went over. 

Sam gave a shriek, but Minnie uttered no 
sound. She just closed her eyes and went 
under. The next moment all three were 
floundering in the water. 

“H — help — h — help! I ’m d — drowning,” 
cried Sam, puffing and flopping about like a 
great porpoise. 

Minnie was quietly clinging to the over- 
turned boat. 

Sam kicked and splashed, and again cried 
out, coughing and half-strangled by the water 
that entered his open mouth.” 

“C — C — Carl — where are you? S — s — save 
— m — me! I ’m n — n — not fit t — t — to die — 
y— yet.” 

“You ’re not going to die, Sam. Just put 
your feet down and walk,” said Carl, coolly. 
“The water is not much above your knees.” 

And so it proved. 


72 PHILIP BAR TON’S SECRET 

They had drifted into shallow water before 
they knew it. Had the boat gone over where 
it was deeper, the consequences might have 
been serious, especially for Sam, who was too 
much terrified to use any means towards his 
own preservation. 

They reached the shore in safety, and after 
walking some two miles, got home without 
suffering further harm. Minnie was quite 
gay as they tramped along in the sand, and 
said they were like shipwrecked people she 
had read about, and that they must be merry 
in order to keep out the cold. 

“I think your Cousin Ralph was right in 
calling you a madcap,” Carl said to her, as 
she skipped along by his side, not seeming 
to mind in the least her wet and clinging 
skirts. Sam moped behind, shivering and 
grumbling. 

“O, I ’m from the Rocky Mountains, you 
know. We are not like Eastern girls. We 
love danger. Papa says if I was a boy, he 


A TRYING MOMENT 


73 


would make a soldier of me. As I am only a 
girl, he does not know what to do with me,” 
and Minnie laughed delightfully. 

After a time she gave a little cry of dis- 
may, and stopped to scan the lake. 

“Suppose that pretty dory is lost?” she la- 
mented. “Then we could not have any more 
fun on the water. And I want you to teach 
me how to row. I could learn as easy as not, 
I know. You see, I am ever so strong.” 

Carl told her the boat would be picked up 
and brought home all right. A line put in 
the morning paper would show whose it was, 
for her name was clearly painted on her bow. 

“And I ’ll be glad to teach you to handle 
the oars,” he added. “I am sure you will do 
capitally. Any girl who can face a wind like 
this when she is dripping wet, and not mind 
it, ought to become a famous sailor.” 

Just then the sun, which had been hidden 
by a bank of clouds, burst forth. Even Sam 
was aroused into momentary enthusiasm by 


74 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


the beauty of the golden light as it flooded the 
tossing waves with its glory. 

Great was Miss Weston’s consternation 
when the little party reached home. 

“I knew the wind was high,” she said, 
hurrying them to the fire, “but I never 
dreamed of any danger. Are n’t you almost 
chilled to death?” and she looked searchingly 
into Minnie’s laughing face. 

“No, indeed! I ’m not one bit cold,” the 
girl assured her. “We walked so fast — indeed 
we almost ran sometimes — that I am all out 
of breath. But I ’m as warm as hot toast.” 

Her aunt insisted upon each one taking a 
warm bath before dry clothing was put on, 
although Sam declared he had had bathing 
enough for one day. She also made them 
drink hot lemonade, and insisted that they 
must sit by the fire all the rest of the day. 

Not one of them caught any cold from 
their exposure, and even Sam, after the dis- 
comfort was over, referred to the experience 
as “our jolly adventure.” 


CHAPTER X 


TEMPTATION 

’T' O stand practically alone in a godless 
1 household, especially in such a home as 
was Mr. Weston’s, where each member pos- 
sessed such a strong individuality and personal 
charm as rendered it difficult to withstand the 
influence exerted, is a supreme test of char- 
acter. 

In a careless way, Ralph had again and 
again asked Carl to join him in his Sunday 
drives. Sam was always eager to go, and 
sometimes in the afternoon, after she had dili- 
gently attended Sabbath-school and church, 
Minnie was persuaded to join them. 

It was a clear, crisp, autumnal afternoon, 
and Carl lingered in the sitting-room, chatting 
with Minnie. The morning sermon had been 
rather heavy, and he lacked the stimulus to 
spiritual life which usually came to him from 
the Church services. 


75 


76 PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 

Ralph, in overcoat and gloves, looked in 
from the hall, and said: 

“Get on your hat and cloak, Minnie; I ’m 
off for a drive to Groverstown. Carl, do 
come with us to-day. You look as tired and 
miserable as I feel. A drive in this crisp air 
will make a new man of you.” 

“Yes, do go,” urged Minnie. 

“I can’t, for I have to attend our Mission 
Band this afternoon.” 

“Cousin Ralph does n’t enjoy hearing Sam 
talk, and you always entertain him so nicely. 
It can’t harm for you to go this once.” 

Carl hesitated. He felt tempted to accept 
the cordial invitation; for he knew he was not 
physically up to his usual standard, and the 
thought of a brisk ride behind Ralph’s spirited 
bays sent a thrill of pleasure along his nerves. 

Seeing his hesitation, Ralph added, with a 
laugh: 

“As a salve to your conscience, I will prom- 
ise to drop you at the Groverstown Chapel in 
time for the Young People’s Meeting at three 


TEMPTATION 


77 


(/clock. Sam and I can go on, and call for 
you as we come back.” 

This seemed just the thing, and Carl an- 
swered brightly: 

“Thank you, I will be glad to go on those 
conditions. I have wanted to attend that 
Christian Endeavor Society ever since I heard 
what a flourishing one it is. I ’ll be ready in 
a moment.” 

Sam was already on the steps waiting as 
they came out. He whistled as he saw Carl, 
and said: 

“Glad to see you are getting a little more 
sense, Carl. Hope this is only a beginning of 
good times for you.” 

These words rather dampened Carl’s spir- 
its, and he thought: 

“I wonder if I am letting the banner of 
Christ trail by going on this ride. Sam looks 
as triumphant as though I had indorsed his 
pet theory that the Church of to-day is a 
failure and a humbug.” 

But these musings did not long continue. 


73 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


The bays trotted gayly down the street, and 
the delight and novelty of the ride took full 
possession of him. This was the first time he 
had been in a carriage since he left Nashville. 

Some way, Ralph did not seem to care to 
drive except on the Sabbath, when his friends 
were on the roads, and the parks were 
thronged with vehicles and pleasure-seekers. 

Ralph had taken him by his side on the 
front seat, somewhat to Sam’s discomfiture, 
who himself much enjoyed that position. 

As they bowled merrily along, Ralph 
pointed out many objects of interest which 
Carl had not hitherto seen, and in a kindly and 
careless way exerted himself to make the drive 
as agreeable as possible to his young com- 
panion. 

“There is Philip Barton. See how wretch- 
edly he is looking. Pie is eating his heart out 
over that miserable fellow, Lewis.” 

As he spoke, Ralph drew in his horses just 
in time to hail Philip, who had turned down 


TEMPTATION 


79 


a side street. In answer to his beckoning 
hand, the young man came up to the carriage. 

He looked so gentlemanly in his neat-fitting 
Sunday suit that Carl scarcely recognized him 
as the grimy-faced workman he had hitherto 
only seen in the shop. With genuine pleasure 
he extended his hand in greeting; for the light 
in his face brought to the boy’s heart a sweet 
and swift reminder of his mother. 

Ralph’s greeting was also marked with un- 
wonted warmth. After a few careless in- 
quiries, he said: 

“Come with us and take a drive, Barton. 
You look as if you needed a change. You see, 
this is father’s carriage, and it seats four very 
comfortably. When I get my new turnout, 
I won’t promise to invite you. It is to hold 
only two.” 

“Thank you, but I can’t go to-day,” was 
Philip’s reply. 

“Nonsense; jump in. I have promised to 
drop Carl at Groverstown, in time for the 


8o 


PHILIP PAP TOJV’S SECRET 


Christian Endeavor meeting in the chapel. I 
can do the same for you if you like, though 
I advise you to spend the whole afternoon in 
the open air. Get in, Barton. You really look 
ill” 

Philip smiled, but shook his head. 

“Have you heard what a fine Christian 
Endeavor Society they have at Groverstown?” 
Carl asked. “I am sure you could be of use in 
giving a little talk, if you would go. I wish 
you would.” 

The young man still smiled as he said, with 
an earnest glance into Carl’s face: 

“If I went, it would be for the sake of the 
ride. The Endeavor meeting would only be 
a sop for my conscience. Besides, I have an 
engagement to visit a sick boy who lives down 
this street. He belongs in the shop, and this 
is the first chance I have had, since I learned 
of his sickness, to see him.” 

“Then you won’t go with us?” Ralph said. 
A tinge of coldness marked his tone. 


TEMPTATION 


8l 


Philip noticed it, and replied, with genuine 
regret : 

“I am very sorry to have to refuse your 
kind invitation. But the truth is, my creed 
will not permit me to take pleasure-rides on 
the Sabbath. You are very, very kind to me, 
Mr. Ralph, but my Captain comes first, and 
I must not do what will grieve him.” 

“Of course, you must act your own pleas- 
ure,” Ralph coldly responded, tightening his 
grasp upon the reins. 

Quick as a flash, Carl leaped from the car- 
riage, just as the horses started. In surprise, 
Ralph drew them up. Before he could utter 
a word the boy spoke: 

“Do excuse my seeming rudeness, Mr. 
Ralph. But this young man’s words are like 
a mirror. They show me my own heart, and 
that I am breaking solemn vows by taking 
this drive. I thank you with all my heart for 
your kindness, but I must not ride any far- 
ther.” 


6 


82 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


Ralph looked into the two earnest faces be- 
fore him in mute astonishment. The feeling 
of anger and resentment which was struggling 
for mastery in his bosom melted away under 
the light he saw in their eyes. 

“Well, Carl, I call this a case of barefaced 
desertion of a comrade in the hour of need, ,, 
he exclaimed with a half laugh, which ended 
in a chirp to his horses. The next moment the 
carriage rolled on, and Carl turned to Philip, 
saying: 

“How I thank you for those brave words! 
May I go with you to visit the sick boy?” 

“Indeed you may, and I shall be delighted 
to have you with me,” was Barton’s hearty 
answer. 

As they walked down the street together, 
he told Carl the sorrow that was pressing upon 
his heart because of Fred Lewis. 

“He is sinking deeper into the gulf of ruin 
every day, and I am powerless to help him. 
Mr. Ralph is doing what he can, but that is 
not much.” 


TEMPTATION 


83 


As the carriage passed on its way after 
leaving Carl standing by Barton’s side on 
the curbstone, Sam gave a mocking laugh, 
saying: 

“Carl is a bigger fool than I thought. I 
pity a chap like that.” 

“You need not waste your pity on him. 
He and Barton are about the happiest fellows 
I know,” was his cousin’s reply, given in a 
sharper tone than Sam had ever before heard 
him use. 

Sam kept silent for a while, for he saw that 
Ralph was just then in no mood for conversa- 
tion. The latter found himself saying to his 
inner self: 

“I wish I knew the secret of Barton’s life. 
In spite of his grief over Lewis, his heart is 
singing like a bird. I can see it in that strange 
light that never leaves his face. And Carl has 
a little of the same thing. I ’d give half of 
my earthly possessions to get such a joy as 
that into my soul.” 

Before Carl retired that night, he wrote a 


8 4 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


brief letter to his mother. He recounted his 
afternoon’s experience, and then said: 

“I am now conscious that I was on the 
drift, and that Barton’s words stopped me. 
Where I might have gone if I had not been 
thus arrested, no one can tell. It is your 
prayers, mother, that saved me. I feel that 
they are encircling me like a girdle. How I 
thank God to-night for a praying mother!” 


CHAPTER XI 

“THEM THAT HONOR ME, I WILL HONOR ” 

W/ORK continued as usual in the shop till 
the middle of December. Then, without 
warning, it shut down for a three months' 
rest. 

Times were hard, and in order to avoid em- 
barrassment, Mr. Weston decided that this 
was his best course. 

Ralph was given the books to examine, and 
was told to find out exactly how the firm 
stood. 

If there was discontent among the oper- 
atives, they did not show it. They had confi- 
dence in their employer, and knew, as soon as 
the times permitted, the shop would again 
open, and employment be given them. 

A little light work was continued, and five 
workmen were retained. Included in the five 
85 


86 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


was Philip Barton.* The other four were 
skilled operatives. He was not. 

Why was he preferred when there were so 
many others better fitted for the delicate work 
in hand than he? 

Philip asked himself this question many 
times when he found out his good fortune, 

“I give it up,” he murmured at last. “It ’s 
just my Captain who has done it, out of his 
great love for one of the weakest of his sol- 
diers.” 

Mr. Weston said to his son: 

“I have made up my mind on one point. 
In spite of his quixotic notions, Philip Barton 
shall never go out of this shop if I can help it. 
A young man who will calmly give up a part 
of his wages, and run the risk of losing his 
place to boot, rather than do what he con- 
siders a wrong thing, is worth keeping. I 
came near sending him adrift at the time, for 
it was very provoking for him to face me out 

* This, as well as the matter of the ticket, is 
strictly true. 


THEM THA T HONOR ME, I WILL HONOR 87 

as he did; but I begin to understand him 
better. I am glad I kept him.” 

“So am I,” Ralph rejoined, with great 
heartiness. “He is the most reliable man in 
the shop. He would go through fire and 
water to save the firm from loss or disgrace. 
I have never taken such a fancy to any fellow 
as I have to Barton. He is a rare character.” 

“Do you know he is trying to move heaven 
and earth to save that worthless Lewis?” the 
elder man asked. 

“I know he is deeply interested in his re- 
form,” Ralph replied. He did not confide to 
his father how Philip was ever urging him to 
follow the prodigal in his downward course 
with the hope of reclaiming him. Nor did he 
tell of the many nights when he himself had 
voluntarily given up his seat by the cheery 
open fire in the luxurious library to seek the 
wanderer, and induce him to go with him to 
his home. 

“Do you know that Barton’s religion, laugh 
at it as you will, is the most remarkable thing 


88 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


I have ever seen?” Mr. Weston continued: 
“It is that and nothing else, in my opinion, 
which has turned him into another man. I 
am more and more convinced of this. Some 
supernatural power must be behind that fel- 
low. If there were more such Christians as he 
is proving himself to be, cheery and faithful, 
I might begin to look into religion myself.” 

Ralph did not laugh. Indeed, he was 
pondering many things in his heart these days, 
of which he did not speak. 

The following Saturday night an interested 
observer might have seen the light in Philip 
Barton’s room burning until a much later 
hour than usual. The young man had knelt 
by his couch a long time, when he suddenly 
arose, whispering: 

“Yes, it is all clear now. I see my duty 
plainly.” 

Then he got out writing materials, and 
hastily wrote a brief note. It was noticeable 
that he disguised his handwriting. This note 
he addressed to Fred Lewis’s mother, who, 


THEM THA T HONOR ME , I WILL HONOR 89 

like his own mother, was a widow. She was 
wholly dependent upon Fred’s wages for her 
support. 

Into this letter he placed two five-dollar 
bills. The light on his face was wonderfully 
bright as he said to himself, while sealing this 
missive: 

“This means the giving up of my most 
cherished plan. But it is for Him, and he will 
bring me out all right. How glad I am that 
he showed me so plainly what I ought to do!” 

Then he prepared for bed, and in a brief 
time the light in his room was out, and he was 
sweetly sleeping. 

About this period, Lewis’s career took such 
a plunge as seemed to all who observed him 
could only end in utter destruction. 

All restraint was thrown off. Whatever in- 
fluence Ralph Weston up to this time had ex- 
erted over him now seemed lost. Utter reck- 
lessness possessed him. Mortification, shame, 
wrath, and despair were doing their deadly 
work. 


9 ° 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


Possibly the knowledge that his mother 
was suffering for the necessities of life, while he 
was wantonly squandering what little he had 
laid by from his earnings while he had em- 
ployment, only added momentum to his down- 
ward course. All true manhood seemed to 
have faded. Only the desperate animal was 
left. 

Even Brown now became disgusted with 
his companion’s wild orgies, and deserted him. 

Every one interested in him lost hope, with 
the exception of Philip Barton. He still held 
on to the Throne for him in believing prayer. 

He had asked Carl, who made it a point to 
see Barton at least once every week, to join 
him at a certain hour each day in an earnest 
petition for the reckless young man. 

“Take this promise as the basis of prayer,” 
he said, taking out his little pocket Testament, 
and turning to Matthew xviii, 19: “Again I 
say unto you, that if two of you shall agree 
on earth as touching anything that they shall 


THEM THA T HONOR ME , I WILL HONOR 9 1 

ask, it shall be done for them of my Father 
which is in heaven.” Philip added: 

“Here is a clear and distinct promise. God 
is faithful, and must hear and answer us, no 
matter how hopeless the case seems. Christ 
is more interested in saving a soul than we are 
to see that soul saved; so we may be certain 
that he is pleading for him and for us.” 

Philip’s faith offered just the help that Carl 
needed, and this promise to join him in earnest 
petition for Lewis proved a great blessing to 
the boy. It kept him near to Christ, and 
caused his heart to listen for his assuring 
voice with an intensity of hope he had never 
before experienced. 

The very next Saturday after Philip had 
sent his unsigned letter to Mrs. Lewis, Mr. 
Weston came and stood for many minutes 
beside his bench while he was at work. This 
was such an unusual occurrence that the 
young man felt a sudden fear struggling at his 
heart lest he might, unwittingly, have given 


92 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


offense to his kind but rather choleric em- 
ployer. 

But Mr. Weston’s first words dispelled this 
dread. 

“Barton,” he said, “I think I understand 
you now better than I did awhile ago. Here 
is something I feel is due you. Hereafter you 
will draw your full wages.” 

He placed an envelope in Philip’s hand, 
and walked away. Barton opened it, and 
found that it contained every penny of the 
wages that had been cut down. 

“My Captain, I thank thee!” he breathed, 
while a sudden mist dimmed his eyes. 


CHAPTER XII 

DANGER 

"~PHE dory was recovered, as Carl had proph- 
esied, and many were the delightful hours, 
when the weather permitted, that he and Min- 
nie spent upon the water. 

The winter thus far had been a peculiarly 
open one, and scarcely a Saturday had come 
when it was too cold for a row. 

Sometimes Sam joined them, but usually 
he sought other society. 

“I do n’t like that Hale boy who goes with 
Sam so much,” Minnie one day remarked to 
Carl, as she rested upon her oars, and allowed 
the boat to drift with the wind. 

“He is not specially prepossessing,” Carl 
replied. “I do n’t see what Sam finds about 
him so entertaining. They are together these 
days most of the time.” 


93 


94 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“How does he stand in his classes?” the 
girl asked. 

“O medium. I do n't think Professor 
Fisher likes him, though. He has spoken 
sharply to him several times of late. I wish 
Sam had not taken such a fancy to him.” 

“Look ! Is n’t that Sam now in that boat 
over there?” Minnie suddenly inquired, indi- 
cating a dory that was to their right, and 
which had come quite close to them before 
they observed it. 

“Yes, and that is Clarence Hale with him,” 
Carl answered, in surprise. “When I asked 
Sam to come out with us, he said the day was 
too raw to go on the water. He seems to 
have changed his mind.” 

“And there is another boat, a larger one, 
following Sam’s. There are three young men 
in that one. Do you know them?” 

Carl studied their faces a moment before he 
replied: 

“Yes. They are all college boys. But they 
are Seniors. One is Knox Purtle, one is 


DANGER 


95 


Robert Sawyer, and the other is — yes, it is 
Cliff Holloway. I hope Sam is not taking up 
with him.” 

“Why?” Minnie questioned. 

“O — well — I do n’t fancy him,” the boy 
responded. He did not add what he knew to 
be true, that this young man was considered 
the wildest spirit in Norwood 

“Sam must see us, yet he does n’t seem to 
notice,” the girl said, after a moment’s silence. 

She took out her handkerchief and waved 
it vigorously; but the youths in the two boats 
seemed blind to the challenge. 

They rowed rapidly beyond view, behind a 
curve in the shore of the lake, never seeming 
to notice the little dory and its two inmates. 

That night Minnie said to her cousin: 

“Why did n’t you speak to us to-day, Sam, 
when you passed so near us?” 

Sam opened his eyes wide, in evident sur- 
prise. 

“When did I pass you? I thought you 
went out on the lake.” 


96 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“Do n’t pretend that you did not see us,” 
the girl said, petulantly. “Your boat was so 
near to us that you could n’t have helped 
knowing us.” 

Sam gave a low whistle. 

“Well, if here is not another case of mis- 
taken identity. I wonder who the fellow is. 
I did n’t know before that my ‘double’ was in 
Ridley.” 

“And you mean to say that you were not 
out with that Hale boy on the lake this after- 
noon, just before sunset?” his cousin asked, 
incredulously. 

“How could I be, seeing I was out buggy- 
riding with Hal Tracy at that identical time?” 
Sam replied, stretching himself lazily. 

In a few moments he arose, and left the 
room. Before he closed the door he said, in 
an annoyed tone: 

“Look here. Do n’t go to mixing me up 
again with some fellow who may be one of 
the roughs of the town for all you know. Use 
your eyes to better purpose. It seems to me 


DANGER 


97 


you ought to know your own cousin by this 
time, Minnie.” 

Carl had been a silent listener to this con- 
versation. Minnie looked at him question- 
ingly as Sam disappeared. 

“Who in the world could it have been?” 
she inquired, seeing that Carl did not speak. 
“I thought it strange that Sam would not an- 
swer my handkerchief call. My! I must be 
more careful another time. Think of my wav- 
ing to an entire stranger.” 

Carl smiled, but made no reply. He, too, 
soon left the room. 

“If that was not Sam Weston in that boat, 
then my name is not Carl Bachman,” he said 
to himself, as he reached the seclusion of his 
own room. After some moments of silent 
meditation, he added, half aloud: 

“I 'm afraid Sam is no good. He has got 
in with the worst fellows in college. He is not 
of much account at the best, but for his uncle's 
sake and Minnie's, I wish he had chosen a dif- 
ferent crowd. Where could they have been 
7 


9 8 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


going that he wished to keep it a secret? 
Cliff Holloway is said to drink and gamble 
like anything. I wish I knew how to help 
Sam. I ’m afraid he is in danger.” 

This impression was not removed by a little 
incident that occurred a few days later. 

As he was going to his room one night for 
an evening of hard study, Sam met him in the 
hall. He had on his overcoat, and seemed 
about to go out on the street. 

“You are the very fellow I want to see,” 
he exclaimed, jocularly. Then, coming up 
close to Carl, he said, in a low tone: 

“Lend me five dollars, will you? I ’m out, 
and I need some money at once.” 

Involuntarily, Carl said: 

“Out of money? How is that possible, 
Sam? You showed me twenty dollars in your 
purse only a few days ago.” 

The other laughed. 

“I ’ve had to pay that out. I owed some 
bills. Come, be a good fellow, and fork over 


DANGER 


99 


a five. I ’ll pay you out of my next allow- 
ance.” 

Without pausing to reflect, Carl did as he 
was requested. Sam thanked him, and turned 
away. But he came back to say, in a low 
voice: 

“Do n’t speak of this to uncle or to Cousin 
Ralph. They might be disagreeable, and con- 
sider me extravagant. But I am all right, and 
you shall have your money back soon.” 

No sooner had the outer door closed upon 
Sam than Carl regretted the loan. After a 
moment’s hesitation he hurried to the steps, 
half determined to recall it. But Sam was 
some distance down the street, and by his side 
walked two young men. They must have 
been waiting for him. One was Clarence 
Hale; the other, Carl felt almost sure, was 
Cliff Holloway. 

With a weight upon his heart, he settled 
down to his books. 

It is true that, personally, he cared very 
L. of C. 


IOO 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


little for Sam. But here was a young life, the 
hope and pride of a mother’s heart, who, to 
all appearance, had chosen the wrong road, 
and was traveling rapidly its downward way. 

"Is it strange,” he mused, "when, from 
his own lips, I know his father to be a skep- 
tic and a re viler of Christ? And his mother, 
as truly as she loves him, is still only a fash- 
ionable woman of the world. Thank God for 
my mother! What do I not owe to her, and 
to her teaching and her prayers?” 


CHAPTER XIII 


IN THE WEE SMA' HOURS 

r' ARL had hoped to be allowed to spend the 
^ holiday season at home. But Mr. Bach- 
man wrote that a business engagement would 
take him to Florida just at that season, and he 
had decided to take his wife with him. 

“She is not looking as well as usual,” he 
said. “She is not sick; only a little nervous. 
I am sure a month in the far South will ben- 
efit her, although she protests she does not 
need a change. So, my dear boy, you must 
make up your mind to pass your vacation with 
your kind friends in Ridley. This may prove 
a disappointment to you, but you will not 
mind it when you know it is for the sake of 
your mother’s health.” 

Carl’s disappointment was keener than he 
cared to confess. A little feeling of uneasiness 
about his mother had stabbed him several 

IOI 


102 


PHILIP BAP TON'S SECRET 


times of late when reading her letters. She 
did not speak of being ill, but often com- 
plained of weariness and loneliness, and had 
seemed to buoy herself up with the certain 
prospect of having her boy with her during 
Christmas week. 

“It would help her more to have me home 
again than all the trips father can give her,” 
he thought, with tears welling to his eyes. 

His heart instinctively divined the truth, 
that it was her unspoken longing for her 
child’s presence that rendered her weak and 
nervous. 

“How little father understands her!” he 
mused, almost bitterly. “Yet he fairly idol- 
izes her; and well he may. There never was 
another woman like her, never! How good 
God was to give me such a mother!” 

And then he fell upon his knees, and be- 
sought his Heavenly Father’s care and pro- 
tection over this tenderly-loved parent. He 
never failed to pray for his father whenever he 
offered a petition for her, for in his early child- 


IN THE WEE SMA ’ HOURS 


103 


hood she had made him promise this. But 
there was a fervency and passion about his 
pleadings for her which did not mark the 
others. 

The Weston household was much pleased 
to have Carl among them for the holidays. 
He was a favorite with each one. Even Sam, 
while he mocked at his piety and ridiculed 
many of his opinions, thoroughly liked him. 

Handsome presents came to him from both 
parents, and every member in the new home 
circle gave him some pretty holiday remem- 
brance. Minnie’s touched him deeply. It 
was a lovely card set in a suitable frame, on 
which she had painted a bunch of lilies and 
a superb rose. Under these she had traced, 
in delicate lettering, these words: 

“He is 'the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of 
the Valley.’ ” 

He found a piece of paper slipped under the 
edge of the frame, on which was written: 

“He is so much to you, Carl, that you are 
teaching me to know Him and to love Him as 


104 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


I never did before. I think I can say now, 
that He is to me what I am sure He has been 
to you for a long time, ‘the chiefest among ten 
thousand, and the One altogether lovely.’ — 
Minnie.” 

Carl placed this little note among his cher- 
ished treasures, and hurg the dainty memento 
beside his mirror. 

“I want it where I can see it every time I 
look in the glass,” he thought. “Then I shall 
see Him, and my deepest thought and desire 
will constantly be to be transformed into His 
glorious image.” 

One afternoon, the very last one of the 
holidays, Miss Weston placed two tickets in 
Carl’s hand, saying: 

“I have a favor to ask of you. Minnie is 
extremely anxious to hear the Princeton Glee 
Club. It will only be in the city this one night. 
Ralph and Sam both plead engagements. 
Will I be asking too much of you, if I beg you 
to come to my help? I would take the child 


IN THE WEE SMA ’ HOURS 1 05 

myself, but my neuralgia forbids my going 
out.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Carl as- 
sured her it would give him great pleasure to 
go with Minnie, and that he would be de- 
lighted to hear the Glee Club himself. 

He knew it meant for him sitting up until 
the “wee sma’ hours,” unless he went to the 
college on the morrow with some of his les- 
sons unlearned. This he had never yet done, 
and he felt he could not afford to break his 
record for high scholarship. 

It proved a delightful evening, and the 
music was even more enjoyable than he had 
anticipated. Minnie was in one of her gayest 
moods, and, in spite of the prospect of three 
hours of hard study when he got to his room, 
he was glad Miss Weston had given him an 
opportunity for the outing. 

As they were on their way home, four 
youths came out of a saloon just as they passed 
the door. It was one of those gilded palaces 


106 PHILIP BARTON' S SECRET 

through whose open portals myriads of young 
men annually drop into perdition. 

“That boy in the light overcoat is Sam,” 
Minnie whispered. The recognition startled 
her. 

A moment later she recovered herself, and 
said aloud: 

“Won’t you come with us, Sam? We are 
just on our way home from the Glee Club.” 

The owner of the light overcoat was im- 
mediately in front of her. He gave a start, 
and half turned around. His profile was dis- 
tinctly visible in the bright electric-light. 

Surely it was Sam. 

But he quickly pulled his hat lower over his 
eyes, and hurried on. His three companions 
kept pace with his accelerated steps, and they 
soon passed out of sight. 

Minnie lifted a troubled face to Carl. 

“Surely that was Sam. Or was it his 
‘double?’ ” 

“You can ask him in the morning,” was 
Carl’s evasive answer. He knew it was Sam; 


IN THE IVEE SMA ’ HOURS 


107 


and he also knew that the young fellow did not 
mean to admit his identity. 

“That was Cliff Holloway who held his 
arm, and Rob Sawyer and Clarence Hale were 
the two in front,” he mused, with contracted 
brow. 

“Of course, it could not have been Sam, 
else he would have spoken to us when I called 
him,” Minnie now said, drawing a long breath. 
“But I never saw such a wonderful resem- 
blance before. Even the coat was exactly like 
Sam’s; fur collar and all.” 

Late that night, it was long past midnight, 
as Carl was poring over his Greek, the sound 
of stealthy steps ascending the stairs aroused 
him. 

“Is it a burglar?” he thought, with pulses 
quickened by the surmise. 

He quietly arose and placed his ear to the 
crack of the door. Yes, there was no doubt 
but that stealthy steps were drawing nearer. 
He looked about him. He saw no weapon of 
defense save his four-pound dumb-bells, with 


io8 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


which he exercised himself every morning be- 
fore he dressed. He noiselessly seized one of 
these, and waited until the steps were immedi- 
ately in front of his door. Then he swung it 
open, and discovered a figure which instantly 
cowered down, as though trying to escape 
from the blaze of light which streamed over 
him from Carl’s electric globe. 


CHAPTER X1Y 

DISCOMFITED 

Hr HE shrinking, cowering figure was Sam. 

Carl could hardly believe the evidence of 
his eyes. He walked up to him, saying, in a 
stern voice: 

“Sam, are you crazy or drunk, that you 
come stealing in like a burglar at this late 
hour?” 

Sam raised his hand warningly, and whis- 
pered: 

“D — do n’t speak so 1 — loud. Some one 
will h — hear you.” 

Carl drew him, unresistingly, into his room. 

Once inside and the door closed, the shrink- 
ing figure straightened up, and Sam said in an 
injured tone: 

“Th — the idea of your thinking I was 
d — drunk, Carl. I thought you were a 
109 


no 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


b — better friend to me than to s — suspect me 
of anything so — d — disgraceful/’ 

Carl looked him keenly in the eyes. Like 
the culprit he was, Sam’s gaze dropped to the 
floor in confusion. 

“Sam, you are so drunk you can’t even 
stand steady. Your breath is like a bar-room. 
Unless you get to bed soon, you will become 
helpless, and have to sleep on the floor.” 

Carl’s tone was marked with strong dis- 
gust. 

Sam whined out: 

“I — I only drank a 1 — little wine and 
b — beer.” Then he came close to Carl, and 
added in a beseeching voice: 

“D — do n’t you t — tell on me, C — Carl. 
I — I ’m all right — all — r — r — right.” 

“Will you solemnly promise me, Sam, that 
you will give up Cliff Holloway and Hale, if 
I will keep this disgraceful affair from your 
uncle?” Carl asked. “Unless you do, and un- 
less you keep the promise, it will be my duty 
to inform on you.” 


DISCOMFITED 


III 


Not one moment did Sam hesitate. 
“Y — y — yes, I ’ll promise. I — I d — do n’t 
care for them anyway. T — they are c — cheats 
and 1 — 1 — liars, and I ’m s — s — sick of ’em.” 

He looked sincere, and Carl, knowing that 
this estimate of them was the truth, felt a hope 
that Sam would really keep his word. He 
said: 

“Very well. Now that is a bargain. If I 
find you running with them any more, I shall 
be free to tell Mr. Weston all I know about 
you and them. And this is more, Sam, than 
you think.” 

A look of cunning crossed Sam’s face, and 
he muttered sulkily: 

“Y — you think you ’re v — v — very smart. 
B — but I ’ve th — th — thrown sand in y — your 
eyes m — mor ’n you g — guess.” Then, see- 
ing the stern look in Carl’s eyes, he hastened 
to add: 

“I — I won’t d — d — do it again, C — C — 
Carl. You—” 

“Come, you must get to bed,” Carl inter- 


1 12 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


rupted, taking hold of his arm. “I ’ll go with 
you.” 

The unhappy youth swayed so unsteadily 
as he attempted to walk, that Carl had to place 
an arm about him, and almost carry him down 
the hall to his room. 

He remained with him, assisting in getting 
off his clothing and preparing for bed, until he 
saw him safely between the sheets. Then he 
hastened to his own room, and sat down be- 
fore his grate with a troubled face. 

• Sam did not appear at the breakfast-table 
next morning. He sent word by Jake, the 
bell-boy, that he “had a bad cold, and did not 
feel like eating anything.” 

Carl heard this message with compressed 
lips. 

“Poor fellow! I must go up at once, and 
look after him,” Miss Weston compassion- 
ately said. “His mother would be frightened 
half to death if he fell ill while away from 
home.” 

“His door is locked, ma’am, an’ he won’t 



CARL CONDUCTING SAM TO HIS ROOM 

PAGE 1 13 




DISCOMFITED 


113 

let nobody come in,” Jake said. “He ’lows 
he ’ll be down to dinner; but he says he wants 
to sleep, and do n’t want no one to ’sturb 
him.” 

“Better let him alone,” Mr. Weston said. 
“Sam is a strong, healthy fellow. A little 
cold won’t hurt him. Let him have a good 
sleep, and he will be all right. I ’m sorry for 
him to miss college, though. He has been 
running around too much during the holidays. 
I must put the reins on him.” 

Carl was glad to hear the last words, and 
devoutly hoped Mr. Weston would carry out 
his threat. 

At dinner Sam’s face looked so pale, and 
his manner was so languid, in spite of his 
evident effort to appear as usual, that both 
Minnie and Miss Weston felt troubled. 

Their interest only annoyed him, and he 
said, impatiently: 

“As if a fellow could n’t have a little head- 
ache without being dangerously sick. I hate 

being fussed over. Women are so silly.” 

8 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


114 


“Samuel, you forget yourself.” 

Mr. Weston’s tone was so stern that Sam 
was startled. 

“You will remember never to speak again 
in that way of a lady,” his uncle continued. 
“And now let me lay down some plain rules 
for you. You are running about too much. 
This must be stopped. Attend closely to your 
studies, and leave your sight-seeing until col- 
lege closes. I shall hereafter expect you to 
spend two hours each evening in your room 
over your lessons. Please bear these words 
in mind.” 

“Yes, sir,” Sam meekly responded. 

He had a wholesome fear of his uncle, and 
he did not care to brave his displeasure. 

He cast a sidelong glance at Carl, which 
the latter interpreted as a reminder that he 
should observe the compact of the previous 
night. 

All things taken into consideration, Carl 
felt hopeful that Sam’s course would now 
change. He knew him to be at heart a cow- 


DISCOMFITED 


115 

ard, in spite of his boastful air and supercilious 
ways. 

Mr. Weston’s words seemed indeed, at this 
crisis, like “apples of gold in pictures of sil- 
ver,” and Carl was sure his nephew would 
think twice before he disregarded them. 


CHAPTER XV 

ON SKATES 

HTHE weather for the next montn was in- 
tensely cold. The Firefly was locked away 
in the boathouse, and rowing became an ex- 
perience of the past. 

Minnie was an expert on the ice, and after 
the lake became frozen over there was no lack 
of enjoyment for those young people who did 
not fear the cold. Carl, being a Southern boy, 
knew little of the pleasure to be found on 
skates. He could, it is true, manage to skim 
along very well if the ice was perfectly smooth, 
and no one interfered with him. But to watch 
the intricate and graceful curves and figures 
which Minnie, and even Sam, executed upon 
the ice was bewildering to him. 

All his leisure time was now given to learn- 
ing to manage his skates as perfectly as he 
managed his oars. 

116 


ON SKATES 


117 

Sam, good-naturedly, offered to teach him 
all that he himself knew. And Carl gladly 
availed himself of this kindness. He was glad 
to keep Sam with him; for he could see that 
Hale and Holloway were restive under his de- 
sertion, and he dreaded a renewal of the 
former intimacy. 

Before a month was over, the Southern boy 
could keep abreast with his teacher; but Min- 
nie still kept in the lead. 

It was exciting sport, and Carl found it 
more fascinating than any pleasure he had 
ever before known. 

Ralph sometimes joined them, and even 
Mr. Weston jocularly said one day that he 
had half a mind to take a turn with them, and 
risk a broken limb for the sake of “auld lang 
syne.” 

His sister, believing his words were spoken 
in earnest, exclaimed: 

“Now, John, do be sensible, and stay at 
home. How strange it would look to see a 
man of your age and dignity curveting about 


1 1 8 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

on skates! And imagine what a shock it 
would be to have you measuring your length 
upon the ice. If any of your employees should 
see you, they would never stand in awe of you 
again.” 

These words afforded Ralph much amuse- 
ment, and Mr. Weston gravely said, but with 
a merry twinkle in his eye: 

“Very true. In deference to you, I will 
forego my frolic. I had even thought of ask- 
ing you to join me, for I vividly recall our 
last skating exploit together. Do you?” 

Miss Weston’s cheeks grew quite pink, as 
she replied: 

“Certainly I do. We were having a race 
on the Hoosatonic River, and in some way we 
got tangled up, and both fell in a heap on the 
ice, just as a large party of skaters came 
around the bend. I remember it as plainly as 
if it were only yesterday it happened.” 

This reminiscence proved so delightful to 
Sam and Minnie, that they clamored for 
others. It was unusual to see Mr. Weston 


ON SKATES 


1 19 


in his present genial mood, and the young peo- 
ple determined to make the most of it. 

A happy hour was spent in hearing him and 
Miss Weston recall scenes from other days. 
Carl noticed that a softer light beamed in Mr. 
Weston’s eyes, as he looked upon his sister 
during these word-sketches from the past, than 
the boy had ever before seen in their keen 
depths. 

The next Saturday afternoon, Carl and 
Sam, preceded by Minnie, might have been 
seen by any interested observer a long dis- 
tance from the little pier near Ralph’s boat- 
house. They were skimming over the ice at 
a most lively rate of speed. 

Suddenly Minnie turned and faced her pur- 
suers. 

‘'Let us go around the bend yonder, and 
investigate a little. I have never been on 
shore at that point.” 

“No; let us turn back,” Sam quickly re- 
joined; and Carl as quickly said: “Yes, let us 
make a tour of investigation.” 


120 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


Reluctantly Sam acquiesced, and they soon 
passed beyond the curve in the shore, and 
came in sight of a solitary building standing 
on the bank of the lake. 

“It was around this bend that those two 
boats came last fall,” Minnie said, looking with 
keen interest about her. “Your 'double’ was 
in one of them, Sam. I can scarcely believe 
yet that it was not really you.” 

Sam made no response, and Carl said, look- 
ing at the house: 

“This building is called 'The Hunter’s 
Lodge.’ It is owned by a club, Mr. Ralph 
once told me, who in the hunting season have 
fine sport out here shooting ducks. Halloo! 
there is smoke coming out of the chimney. 
Wonder who is there at this time of the year.” 

“I am going home. It is cold enough to 
freeze a fellow,” Sam exclaimed. “Come on. 
Let us see who will beat on the home stretch.” 

“Wait a little,” his cousin answered. “I 
want to peep in at the window, and see who 
is there. May be they are gypsies.” 


ON SKATES 


1 2 1 


“Gypsies do n’t stay about up here in win- 
ter,” was Sam’s rejoinder. “Better come. 
I ’m off.” 

He would listen to no entreaties, but faced 
about homeward, and glided away, urging 
them to follow. 

“Come on, Carl. I ’m going to peep in at 
that window, and see who in the world is stay- 
ing in this out-of-the-way place in such 
weather as this,” Minnie said, sitting down on 
the ice, and loosening her skates. 

They soon stole noiselessly up the bank, 
and to the window. 

“You look in first,” Minnie whispered, 
drawing back a step. Carl nodded, and peered 
in. Only a moment, and then he laid a hand 
on Minnie’s arm, and almost forcibly turned 
her away. 

“Do n’t look in,” he said, in a low whisper. 
“It is a lot of fellows drinking, and they might 
see you.” 

They hastened to put on their skates, and 
were soon gliding swiftly homeward. 


122 


PHILIP BARTON’S SECRET 


“Who could they have been?” Minnie said, 
with a slight shiver, after they had rounded the 
curve. 

“O, some worthless fellows, who have come 
out to this lonely place to gamble and drink, 
and not be found out,” Carl answered. 

His thoughts were running on in somewhat 
this fashion: 

'That was Holloway, and Hale, and Saw- 
yer, and Purtle. They were going to that 
place to gamble when Sam was with them last 
fall. That is why he was afraid to own up 
that it was he. And he knows they still go 
there is why he turned back just now, and was 
so anxious for us to go with him. He was 
deeper in the net than I supposed. Well, I 
hope he is safe now.” 


CHAPTER XYI 


A NARROW ESCAPE 

^PHE next Saturday Carl went down to the 
1 shop about the time he thought Philip 
Barton would be free. He wanted to have 
a long talk with him. 

Philip met him with unwonted cordiality, 
saying, as they passed out upon the street: 

“I have wanted to see you all the week. 
I am afraid Mr. Weston's nephew is in bad 
company." 

Quite startled, Carl answered: 

“Why do you think so?" 

“In trying to follow Lewis, and help him 
if I can, I stumbled upon the boy in company 
with a set of gamblers not long ago. I knew 
him at once, for I have often seen him out 
riding on Sunday with Mr. Ralph." 

“How long ago was this?" Carl asked. 

“Not more than a week." 

123 


124 


PHILIP BAP TON'S SECRET 


“Are you sure it was Sam?” 

“Quite sure. He was with other young 
fellows, but all were older than he. They were 
drinking champagne together.” 

Carl fell to musing, and they walked some 
distance in silence. 

“I knew he and you were in college to- 
gether,” Philip resumed, “and I thought it 
better to tell you than Mr. Weston. You 
might influence the boy without his knowing 
that you suspected him. Mr. Weston is a 
very high-tempered man, and if he knew that 
a nephew of his visited a saloon he would be 
very hard on him.” 

“That is true,” assented Carl. 

“Severity is sometimes the best thing, but 
often kindness will save a boy of that age. He 
has a nice face, but weak.” 

“That is Sam’s trouble. He is weak, and 
some wild fellows have got hold of him, and 
are leading him the wrong way. I hoped he 
had given them up,” and Carl sighed. 

“I am taking you down one of our worst 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


125 


streets,” Philip said, with a smile. “I always 
go home this way now. Along here is where 
Lewis lounges so much, and I am always hop- 
ing to get a word with him.” 

“Is there no change in him?” Carl in- 
quired, with quick interest. 

“None for the better. He seems lost to all 
sense of honor and manliness. It is awful to 
see how swiftly he is traveling the downward 
road.” 

At this moment the sound of angry voices 
came to them from a saloon they were pass- 
ing. Philip paused. 

“That is Fred’s voice now,” he said. “He 
is in a quarrel.” 

The door swung open, and two youths 
came hurriedly out. One of them said: 

“I ’m not goin’ ter stay where a feller draws 
er knife like that. Some one will git kilt afore 
we knows what ’s er happenin’, an’ the per- 
lice will haul us up fur witnesses.” 

“I ’m going in,” Philip said to Carl. “I 
had a glimpse through the door of Fred. He 


126 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


has a knife. Perhaps I can save him from 
murder.” 

He pushed open the door, and disappeared. 
Involuntarily Carl followed him, pausing just 
inside the threshold. 

A horrid sight met his gaze. Fred Lewis 
held a long knife in his hand, and was making 
furious passes at a man much older than him- 
self, who, in an ineffectual way, seemed trying 
to defend himself. Carl saw blood upon the 
man’s face. 

Several men stood around, either too much 
frightened to try to part the combatants, or 
enjoying the brutalizing spectacle. 

Philip Barton stepped quickly between 
Lewis and his victim, and caught the young 
fellow’s arm in a grip of steel. 

"Put up your knife, Fred,” he said, in an 
authoritative tone. 

For a moment Lewis was too much sur- 
prised to move. 

Then, with an oath, he tried to wrest him- 
self free. 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


12 7 


“Curse you! curse you!” he muttered, a 
new ferocity gathering in his eyes as he recog- 
nized Philip. “I ’d rather cut your heart out, 
you hypocrite, you sneak, than eat my sup- 

_ a 

per. 

With a furious exertion of strength he tore 
himself loose from Barton’s grasp, and raised 
his knife, with murder in heart and face. 

But Philip was too quick for him. He 
sprang aside, and then caught Fred’s arm as 
it descended. There was a fierce struggle. 
Then Carl saw the knife hurled swiftly across 
the room, while Barton said: 

“Give up your struggling, Fred. You are 
disarmed, and I intend to take you home and 
lock you up.” 

“That ’s right,” said the keeper of the sa- 
loon, now coming forward. “He ’s a trouble- 
some fellow. I wish you would take him away. 
These men will help you now the knife is out 
of the way, if you say so.” 

But Fred had now grown passive. Rage 
and drink were telling upon his stalwart 


128 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


frame. He looked sullenly into Philip’s face, 
saying: 

“So you ’re at your old tricks, are you, 
spying upon me? I ’ll kill you yet. You ’ve 
got my knife away this time, but I ’ll have 
another chance.” 

The intense hatred in his tone and face 
made Carl shiver. 

“Will you go home with me quietly, Fred?” 
Philip asked. “Or must I call a policeman, 
and place you in his charge?” 

“Better not trust him. He is a dangerous 
fellow,” one of the men now said. 

“I know Lewis. If he gives me his word, 
he ’ll keep it to the death,” was Barton’s reply. 
“I ’m waiting for your promise, Fred,” he con- 
tinued. 

“I ’m ready enough to go home,” Fred sul- 
lenly said. 

“But will you go with me quietly, and give 
me no trouble?” persisted Philip. 

“Yes, I will. But you look out in the fu- 
ture. I ’ve a heavy account to settle with you, 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


I29 


and I ’m going to attend to it. I always try 
to pay my debts, even if I am only a poor 
devil, and this is one I sha’n’t forget.” 

Barton, as he took Fred’s arm and started 
towards the door, for the first time saw that 
Carl had followed him into the saloon. 

“This is no place for you,” he said. “Get 
away as quickly as you can.” 

“But I would rather go along with you,” 
the boy said. “I do n’t like to leave you alone 
with him.” 

Fred eyed him from head to foot, and then 
said: 

“1 ’m half-drunk and I ’m disgraced, but I 
have n’t fallen so low as to break my word 
yet. I sha’n’t hurt Barton to-day. Better go 
home, as he says, and keep away from such 
places as this. A dandy like you do n’t seem 
to fit in here just right,” and he gave a hoarse 
laugh. 

Philip’s lips framed the word “go,” and 
Carl hastened out into the frosty air, feeling 
that he had just had a glimpse into perdition. 

9 


CHAPTER XVII 


TIGHTENING MESHES 

P\ERPLEXED as to his duty concerning 
Sam, in view of what Philip had told him, 
Carl pondered the matter several days before 
he arrived at a decision. 

Then he tried to get an opportunity to see 
Sam when he was by himself. But this he 
found it difficult to do. Either the young fel- 
low suspected what Carl was after, or he had 
no relish for a private interview after that 
afternoon upon the ice. Minnie had told him 
about the young men whom Carl had seen 
drinking and gambling in the Lodge, and he 
had seemed to avoid him ever since. 

“A guilty conscience needs no accuser,” 
the latter thought with a sigh, as he noted 
how adroitly Sam managed to evade being 
alone with him. “His manner corroborates 

what Barton told me. He acts like a fellow 
130 


TIGHTENING MESHES 131 

who is guilty, and who is trying to hide it. 
O, how I wish I could see mother, and ask her 
what I ought to do!” 

As this was impossible, he decided at last 
to visit Sam in his room, after he was settled 
there for his usual three hours’ study at night. 

The time set apart for study had been re- 
cently lengthened by Mr. Weston, in view of 
Sam’s low college reports; and it was under- 
stood that no one of the household was to in- 
terrupt him, unless it was a case of necessity. 

“This is certainly a case of necessity,” Carl 
said to himself, as he quietly passed down the 
hall, and knocked at Sam’s door. 

“What is wanted?” Sam asked. 

“I want to see you for a little while,” was 
Carl’s answer. 

“Can’t do it. I am deep in mathematics, 
and can’t be interrupted.” 

“But I won’t stay long, Sam. You must 
let me in,” Carl insisted. 

“There ’s no 'must’ about it,” the young 
fellow answered, slipping back the bolt of the 


132 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


door, and opening it a few inches. “Say what 
you have to say out there. You know uncle’s 
orders, that I was not to be interrupted while 
at study.” 

“Yes, but this is about something that can 
not wait,” Carl said. “I must either see you 
to-night, or go to your uncle with what I have 
to say.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Sam slowly 
opened the door, saying, sulkily: 

“You are a deucedly rude fellow, I must 
say, to force me to let you in against my 
wishes.” 

“Yes, I know it is rude to force myself upon 
you in this way; but I have to do it.” Then 
he added, slowly, “Why is it that you avoid 
me of late?” and he looked earnestly into 
Sam’s eyes. 

As usual, those uncandid orbs at once 
dropped under this keen scrutiny, and their 
owner muttered: 

“Who ’s avoiding you, I ’d like to know? 


TIGHTENING MESHES 


133 


It seems to me I see you quite as often as is 
agreeable.” 

Carl sighed, and glanced about the room. 
If Sam had been studying, there was no sign 
of it now. A yellow-back novel lay upon the 
table. He picked it up, and read: “A Taste 
of Real Life; or, Captive to a Woman’s Smile.” 

He spoke not a word, but again looked into 
Sam’s face. The latter moved about uneasily. 

“Say what you ’ve got to say, and then 
leave me alone,” he said, in a surly tone. 

Another swift glance around the room dis- 
covered Sam’s overcoat and hat lying on the 
bed. This fact, while it gave Carl a momen- 
tary feeling of surprise, for the overcoats and 
wraps were always hung in the lower hall, at 
the moment made no special impression upon 
him. 

At last he said: 

“My errand with you is a disagreeable one, 
Sam. First, I want to ask you if you have kept 
the promise you made me about wholly giving 
up Hale and Holloway?” 


134 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“Of course I have,” and Sam’s tone evinced 
relief. “If this is all you ’ve got to say, it won’t 
keep you long.” 

“But that is not all,” Carl replied, going up 
closer to him, and laying a hand upon his arm. 
“I was told a day or two ago that you have 
been seen visiting saloons at night with these 
fellows during the past ten days.” 

“That is false!” Sam exclaimed, angrily. 
“Who told you such a lie?” 

“Never mind who told me. I have reason 
to believe that it is true, and that you are try- 
ing to bluff me, Sam.” 

“Look here, Carl. What you say is an in- 
sult. But you mean all right, so I ’ll excuse 
you,” the other responded, in an injured tone. 
“You ’ve got good sense. Will you please 
tell me how I could run with Hale and Hollo- 
way when I am virtually kept a prisoner in 
this room every night? Uncle and Ralph are 
watching me as closely as though I was a 
prisoner of war. Whatever set them up to 


TIGHTENING MESHES 


135 


suspecting me I can’t think, unless you have 
broken your word,” and Sam looked accus- 
ingly into his visitor’s face. 

“I have n’t breathed a syllable,” Carl re- 
plied. “But I shall be free to tell all that I 
know, unless you can convince me that you 
are keeping faith with me.” 

“Humph! All I ask of you is, just use your 
common sense a bit. Am I not locked up 
here every night, and not permitted to step 
upon the street, even for a moment?” Sam’s 
tone was triumphant. 

“But there are your Saturdays,” Carl sug- 
gested. 

“And you know very well where and how 
all my Saturdays have been spent ever since 
our compact. You will have to give it up, 
Carl, and confess that your informant either 
lied, or was mistaken in his man.” 

Sam’s face was now quite bright, and Carl 
meditatively watched him. 

It was true, as he now recalled the past, that 


136 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

he did know just how Sam had spent each 
Saturday since his promise to give up Hale 
and Holloway had been made. 

“Well, I am certainly relieved that you 
have such strong proofs in your favor,” he at 
last said. “If I have misjudged you, I am 
sorry. But your words, Sam, do not always 
hold water. For instance, you said you were 
busy over mathematics to-night, and yet here 
is this novel turned down, just where you seem 
to have laid it when you came to the door. 
And where are your problems ?” 

“Not far away,” Sam answered, with a 
laugh. He turned up the corner of the cloth 
which covered the table, and drew out several 
sheets of paper, closely filled with figures and 
various mathematical characters. “I get 
awfully tired poring over my 'math’ so much, 
and sometimes I take a little rest by dipping 
into this book,” he said, lightly. “If you are 
sensible, you will do the same. Too much of 
one thing is enough to addle a fellow’s brains, 


TIGHTENING MESHES 


n 7 


unless they are different from mine,” and he 
laughed. 

Only partially convinced, and yet unable to 
disprove Sam’s words, Carl went to his room. 

If Sam was guilty, he certainly was sharp, 
and bade fair to swell the ranks of criminals 
at no distant day, unless some Power stronger 
than had yet been exerted was thrown around 
him. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MISSING 

\/|ARCH came, and with it mild weather. 
' ■ The sun poured down such fervid rays 
that Minnie, who was loath to give up the ice, 
looked out of the window, and said: 

“This sun is hot enough for May. I can’t 
think what the months are about, getting 
twisted up so. In April, last year, it was cold 
enough for icicles and snow, and now it feels 
as if the flowers ought to be in bloom. I 
actually walked from school without any 
wrap.” 

“I am glad to see the change,” Carl re- 
sponded, who was standing near, waiting for 
the dinner-bell to ring. “It feels home-like.” 

Minnie turned upon him a reproachful face. 

“I thought you just loved to skate,” she 
exclaimed. 

“So I do; but we have skated enough for 
138 


MISSING 


139 


one winter, it seems to me. And I am tired of 
the cold. It will be great fun to have the lake 
clear of ice, and get out the boat again.” 

“I had forgotten the Firefly,” the girl said, 
her face brightening. “How long will it take 
the ice to melt, do you suppose?” 

Before Carl could reply, Sam, who had just 
entered, said: 

“Not many hours, if it is like me,” and he 
began to fan himself with a paper he took from 
the table. 

Carl saw that his face was deeply flushed, 
and that beads of perspiration stood thickly 
upon his forehead. 

“Have you been running?” he asked, in sur- 
prise. 

“No; but I walked fast coming over from 
college, not dreaming how hot the sun was. 
I feel as if my face was almost blistered. I 
had on my cap,” and he wiped the perspiration 
away with his handkerchief, and helped him- 
self to a glass of water. 

Mr. Weston and Ralph, when they came in, 


140 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


noticed his flushed countenance, and com- 
mented upon it. He gave them the same ex- 
planation he had given Carl. 

At the dinner-table Minnie exclaimed: 

“Why, Sam! Your hand trembles so that 
you can hardly eat. Are you sick?” 

He tried to laugh; but did not very well 
succeed. 

“No; I am only nervous. The sun pretty 
nearly upset me,” was his answer. 

Miss Weston solicitously advised a band- 
age wrung out of ice-water to be bound about 
his head. He replied: 

“I will be all right soon. My head aches 
some, and I won’t go back to college this 
afternoon. I will take a sleep, and to-morrow 
I ’ll be as nimble as ever.” 

“Well, but do put the bandage on your 
head,” his aunt persisted. “It can’t do any 
harm, and it may save you from a spell of sick- 
ness.” 

“Perhaps I will when I come to lie down,” 
he answered. Then he added: “You are very 


MISSING 


141 

kind to take so much interest in me, Aunt 
Cornelia.” 

This was such a remarkable speech, com- 
ing from Sam, that Carl opened his eyes wide 
in astonishment. Miss Weston responded, 
with much feeling: 

“I know how your mother’s heart is set 
upon you, Sam, and that it would almost kill 
her for any harm to come to her boy.” 

Carl glanced across at Sam, and saw that 
a sudden mist of tears dimmed his eyes. 

“There is hope for him,” he thought. “Any 
boy who loves his mother like that, can hardly 
go to utter ruin.” 

Was Carl right? 

Mr. Weston gave a sharp glance into his 
nephew’s face as he arose from the table. 
Then he said: 

“You would better take your aunt’s advice, 
and put the water on your head. You look 
as though you might have a fever.” 

“Yes, sir; but really, I am all right. A 
good sleep will set me up again.” 


142 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


As he turned to go to his room, he paused 
at the door, and said: 

“If I do n’t come down when the bell rings 
for tea, Aunt Cornelia, do n’t let Jake disturb 
me. I feel as though I would rather sleep 
clear through until morning, than bother to 
come down again.” 

Miss Weston made no reply. . She felt un- 
easy about the boy; but she knew, from long 
experience, that she might better keep her 
fears confined to her own bosom. 

At night Sam did not appear at the supper- 
table. Mr. Weston’s brow was clouded, and 
when Ralph inquired after his cousin, he said: 

“Let him alone. He needs to be by him- 
self.” 

During the evening Miss Weston cau- 
tiously ascended the stairs, and entered Sam’s 
room. It was in darkness, and the grate con- 
tained no fire. 

“Poor fellow!” she murmured, turning to 
the bed. The light from the hallway streamed 
full upon it. It was empty. 


MISSING 


143 


In much trepidation she began to call Sam’s 
name. 

But no reply came. She hurried down 
stairs, saying to herself: 

“He has become delirious, and has wan- 
dered off. What will his mother think of us? 
I felt I ought to go up all the afternoon to 
look after him; but he so hates to be disturbed, 
that I waited, hoping he would come down 
to tea.” 

Her alarm was soon communicated to the 
others. Each one felt a dread of something, 
he knew not what. 

Jake, hearing her words, hastened to say: 

“Mr. Sam ’s all right, ma’am. He went 
out’n the house three or four hour ago.” 

“How do you know?” Mr. Weston sternly 
inquired. 

“ ’Cause I seed him. He guv me a quarter, 
an’ tolt me not to say nothin’ ’bout he goin’ 
out till mornin’.” 

Carl ran quickly up the stairs, turned on 
the electric-light in Sam’s room, and looked 


i 4 4 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


keenly about him. A great fear was in his 
heart. 

He had heard it whispered at college that 
afternoon that Holloway had been expelled. 

“The Faculty got wind of his drinking 
habits, and fired him. And they say there are 
others to follow/’ his informant had said. 

“Could Sam have joined Holloway, fearing 
the disgrace of being also expelled? And was 
he now in company with that worthless and 
reckless fellow?” Carl wondered. 

As he was turning to examine the ward- 
robe, to see if his clothing was there, Mr. 
Weston, followed by the others, came up the 
stairs. 

“I see that you suspect exactly what I am 
fearing,” he said. “What do you find?” 

“That his valise and most of his clothes are 
gone,” Carl replied, with pale lips. 

“See, uncle. Here is a letter addressed to 
you,” Minnie exclaimed, taking a folded sheet 
of paper from the bureau, and handing it to 
Mr. Weston. 


CHAPTER XIX 


DISGRACED 

“/^OME down with me into the library, 1 ” 
^ Mr. Weston said, after he had rapidly 
scanned the note. They followed him in si- 
lence, each one oppressed as with a personal 
weight of grief. 

“Before I read you this letter, I must tell 
you of an interview I had with Professor 
Fisher this afternoon, ,, he said, in a hard voice. 
“The professor called to see me, to tell me that 
Sam must be expelled from college. ,, 

Miss Weston gave a low cry, and ptit her 
handkerchief to her face. Her brother con- 
tinued, with his eyes resting upon her: 

“It seems that our nephew, whom I looked 
upon until quite recently as a model youth, 
was altogether bad. He has chosen the worst 
young men in college, all older than himself, 

as his companions. These fellows, it seems, 
145 


10 


146 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

were gamblers, and bore no enviable reputa- 
tion when they entered Norwood. The Fac- 
ulty have had their eyes upon them for 
months, but only recently have they been able 
to prove anything against them. 

“It turns out, now, that these men, or 
youths, have made a habit of going every 
Saturday over to the Lodge belonging to the 
Ridley Hunting Club, and passing the day 
and night in drinking and card-playing. They 
chose this place because it is isolated, and not 
likely to be suspected as being their rendez- 
vous. But it seems that they were discov- 
ered.’ , 

Minnie gave Carl a glance which, to him, 
spoke volumes. Her uncle continued: 

“Just how much Sam has been mixed up 
with these young men it is difficult to tell. 
Long enough, however, to force the Faculty 
to expel him. Professor Fisher says that he 
had a long talk with Sam this morning, and 
that he confessed to having consorted a great 
deal with them. The professor found him 


DISGRACED 


147 


much broken to pieces, and apparently peni- 
tent. He seemed to feel the disgrace of being 
expelled very keenly. Had it been possible, 
the Faculty would have forgiven and restored 
him on account of his youth. But their rules 
are inflexible, and any student who is found 
guilty of either drinking or gambling must be 
expelled.” 

Mr. Weston paused, and opened the letter 
he held in his hand. 

“You are now prepared to hear what Sam 
says,” he continued. He adjusted his eye- 
glasses, and read: 

“Dear Uncle, — It is all true. Professor 
Fisher said he was going to see you this after- 
noon. I can't bear to meet you again; so 
I ’m going home. 

“I never meant to go so far on the wrong 
path as I have gone. Since Professor Fisher’s 
talk with me, I see just when and how I first 
got started. 

“I am going to tell mother all about it. 
She will make it right with father. And I ’m 


148 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

going to try and be a man after this, and never 
disgrace the family again. 

“Your nephew, 

“Samuel Weston. 

“P. S. — Tell Carl, in spite of his keen eyes, 
I was too sharp for him. I went out almost 
every night. I climbed down the fire-escape.” 

Carl gave an exclamation of surprise, and 
Mr. Weston said: 

“I judge from this, that you must have felt 
suspicious about Sam. Am I right?” 

The boy hesitated, and Ralph said: 

“It is all right to tell what you know about 
this miserable affair now, Carl. Sam has con- 
fessed. I know how we all feel about giving a 
comrade away; but this false sense of honor — 
for I am sure it is false — does not bind you any 
longer. Tell us what you know about Sam.” 

Thus urged, Carl gave a brief account of 
his knowledge of the misguided youth’s errors, 
and ended with: 

“I now understand why his overcoat and 


DISGRACED 


149 


hat were on the bed that night. It surprised 
me to see them there, but I did not suspect the 
truth. If I had, I might have saved him from 
this disgrace by unburdening my heart to 
you, Mr. Weston, as I longed to do all the 
time.” 

“I believe it is best just as it is,” Mr. Wes- 
ton said, after a moment’s thought. “The dis- 
grace of being expelled was such a shock that 
I hope it will arouse his dormant sense of 
honor, and be the means of turning him in the 
right direction.” 

“He has done the best possible thing under 
the circumstances,” Ralph remarked. “Going 
home to tell his mother the whole affair, 
argues well for him. I have strong hopes that 
Sam may yet make a man of himself.” 

These words so comforted Miss Weston, 
that she wiped her eyes, and said, in a tremu- 
lous tone: 

“How in the world did he get money to go 
home? He had nothing, for he tried to bor- 
row five dollars from me only day before yes- 


150 PHILIP BAP TON'S SECRET 

terday. But I had not that amount by me, so 
I had to refuse him. I promised to give it to 
him to-day.” 

“O, he was all right about getting home. 
His father bought him a round-trip ticket 
when he came to us,” her brother replied. 
“Brother Charles gave him a most liberal al- 
lowance, but I suppose he drank and gambled 
it all away.” 

Minnie was so grieved over her cousin's 
sin and disgrace, that she could not endure to 
talk about him. As they left the library, Carl 
attempted to refer to Sam’s denial of his iden- 
tity the day they were upon the lake, and also 
the night upon the street as they were return- 
ing from the Glee Club. 

“I would rather not speak of him,” she 
said, with quivering lips. “I did not admire 
a good many things about him; but he Is my 
cousin, and I love him.” 

As Mr. Weston passed down the steps and 
out upon the street the following morning, he 
paused to look intently at the fire-escape, by 


DISGRACED 


151 

means of which Sam had eluded their vigi- 
lance. 

“How little I imagined, when I placed that 
escape on this house, to what evil purpose it 
would lend itself,” he mournfully thought. “I 
recall that Ellen objected to it, saying that it 
was not needed on a private dwelling no taller 
than ours. Perhaps, if I had listened to her, 
Sam might have been earlier checked in his 
wrong-doing.” 

In spite of his hopeful words on the previ- 
ous night, his nephew’s evil course and conse- 
quent disgrace weighed heavily upon his 
heart. 

Five of the Norwood students were ex- 
pelled. Two Freshmen — Sam Weston and 
Clarence Hale; and three Seniors — Hollo- 
way, Sawyer, and Purtle. 

The same charges were brought against 
each, that of gambling and drinking. 


CHAPTER XX 


AT HELL'S GAP 

"THE shop was again the scene of busy labor. 

* It had reopened upon the 15th of March, 
exactly three months from the time it had 
shut down. 

Ralph’s careful examination of the books 
had disclosed the fact that affairs were in a 
better financial condition than his father had 
feared. 

One morning Philip Barton was absent 
from his accustomed place at his lathe, where, 
for three years, whenever the shop was open, 
he had never missed putting in a day’s work. 

There were many speculations among the 
men as to the cause of his absence. 

Just before the hour’s rest for dinner Ralph 
Weston came hurriedly in. 

“Where is Barton?” he asked, in surprise, 
of the man who worked next to him. 

152 


AT HELLS GAP 


153 


“No one knows. He ’s never been away 
afore sence he begun to work in this shop,” 
was the reply. 

Ralph bit his lip in annoyance and per- 
plexity. He especially wished to see Philip 
in relation to Fred Lewis. 

“Do any of you live near Barton's home?” 
he asked, looking over the men inquiringly. 

“I lives nex’ door,” responded a brawny 
fellow, named Richey. 

“Will you call, when you go home to din- 
ner, and find out the cause of his absence?” 
Ralph said. “Tell him, if you see him, that I 
want to have an interview with him before the 
shop closes to-night.” 

“Very well, sir,” the man responded, re- 
spectfully, and Ralph passed out. 

When Richey came back from his mid- 
day meal, his face bore an expression that 
caused the men immediately to ask: 

“What is the matter with Barton? Is he 
sick?” 

“Wuss ’n that,” the man replied, fixing 


154 


PHILIP PAP TON'S SECRET 


himself in an easy attitude upon a bench. The 
whistle for work had not yet sounded. 

“Tell us about him,” said the man who 
worked next to Philip. 

“Las’ night he wus out, down by the lake 
shore,” Richey began. “It gits me what he 
wuz doin’ there, in that orful lonesome place 
they calls ‘Hell’s Gap.’ He wuz a-standin’ 
on the ole pier, wi’ his back to the shore, when 
somebody stepped up behind him and stuck 
a knife into him.” 

Various exclamations of surprise and con- 
sternation burst from Richey’s circle of au- 
ditors. 

“Go on. Was he badly hurt?” some one 
asked. 

“Orful bad. He don’ know how long he 
laid there, knowin’ nothin’ arter the knife dug 
inter his back, ontil he opened his eyes an’ 
seed two fellers a-bendin’ over him. A fishin’ 
boat had got to shore late, owin’ to the blow 
about sunset, an’ the men b’longed to her. 
They put in by the ole pier, as bein’ nigher 


AT HELL'S GAP 


155 


their cabins then the new one, an’ found Bar- 
ton lying’ there, covered wi’ blood. 

“He cum to hisself, as they wuz a fearin’ 
he was dead, and’ he tolt ’em where he lived. 
They tuk him home, an’ there he ’s a layin’ 
as white as ary ghost.” 

“Who cut him?” some one inquired, in a 
harsh voice. 

“Ef Barton knows, he won’t tell,” Richey 
replied. “I kinder thinks he does know, but 
the feller need ’n feel scared. He struck a 
sneakin’ blow at the bes’ man in this shop, but 
Phil ’ull die afore he gives the coward away.” 

When Ralph heard of Barton’s condition, 
he hastened to his home. He found Philip, as 
Richey had said, startlingly pale and death- 
like. 

With much emotion he bent over the bed, 
and said: 

“I ’m sorry, Barton, to see you thus. This 
is the work of that scoundrel, Lewis.” 

“Hush!” Philip said, in a pained voice. 
“No one must suspect him, if we can help it.” 


156 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

“And you won’t throw him over now, even 
after this dastardly act?” Ralph said, in sur- 
prise. 

The wounded man smiled, and whispered, 
as he closed his eyes: 

“My Captain loved me and sought me when 
I was dead in trespasses and sins. Shall I 
throw Fred over when I have His promise to 
save him, if I only hold firm to His blessed 
Word?” 

Ralph had no reply to make. He gazed 
into Barton’s shining face a moment, and then 
said: 

“I came here to condole with you, Philip, 
and with my heart full of compassion and 
sympathy for you. But I find myself envying 
you, instead.” 

His voice was slightly unsteady. Never 
before had he called Barton by his Christian 
name. 

“I’m glad to hear that name from your 
lips,” the young man said, with a grateful 


A T HELL’S GAP 


157 


glance into his visitor’s face. “It sounds more 
friendly.” 

“What can I do for you? Please command 
me as though I were your brother,” Ralph 
hastened to say, to hide his emotion. 

Philip laid a trembling hand upon his arm. 

“Keep guard over Fred as much as possi- 
ble. He was a reckless man before this hap- 
pened. He will be wholly desperate now.” 

Young Weston leaned his head upon his 
hand in silence. There was something about 
this young mechanic that actually awed him. 

“I heard a rumor that he had said that he 
was going to drown himself,” Philip contin- 
ued, after a time. “So I went down to the 
lake to watch, and try to save him if I could. 
When we used to run together, he had a fancy 
for the old pier at ‘Hell’s Gap,’ and I felt al- 
most sure he would go there.” 

Ralph’s eyes suddenly blazed with indigna- 
tion, and he exclaimed: 

“You went to that lonely place to try and 


158 PHILIP BAP TON’S SECRET 

save him, and he crept up on you, like the 
assassin that he is, and tried to murder you. 
I presume he thought he had accomplished 
his purpose.” 

“Hush!” Philip warningly said, with an 
anxious glance towards the door. Seeing that 
no one was visible, he continued, almost in a 
whisper: 

“I think he was scared away by the sound 
of the boat coming in before he had finished 
with me. I believe his intention was to kill 
me, and then drown himself. He is alive to- 
day, however, for I have heard he was seen at 
Brady’s early this morning. Watch for him 
at the old pier to-night. I feel sure he will try 
to end his life within the next twenty-four 
hours. He believes I will inform on him, and 
he is an utterly desperate and despairing man.” 

“If I had never had any faith in the exist- 
ence of the Christ you worship, Philip, your 
life would convince me of the truth of his hav- 
ing lived, and of his power to transform human 


AT HELLS GAP 


159 


lives,” Ralph responded, clasping the wounded 
man’s hand in his own. 

“Thank God! My Captain is better to me, 
always, than I deserve,” Barton answered. 
The light in his face was brighter than ever 
before. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ON THE LAKE AND IN IT 

'T'HAT same afternoon, as Carl returned 
* from college, Minnie met him in the hall. 
“The ice is almost gone in the lake,” she said, 
with sparkling eyes. “I went down after din- 
ner to see. Can’t you take time for a row?” 

“Yes; and thank you for proposing it,” he 
replied, running lightly up to his room to dis- 
pose of his books, and to prepare for the jaunt. 

The sun was bright, and the air was almost 
as balmy as May. 

They were soon on the shore, and the 
Firefly was brought out from the boathouse, 
where it had been resting during the icebound 
season. 

It took Carl some time to clean it out, and 
put it in good condition for Minnie to enter. 

She insisted upon helping him; but he would 
160 


ON THE LAKE AND IN IT l6l 

only permit her to wipe off the seats. The bal- 
ance he did hurriedly himself. 

At last they were off, and a thrill of keen 
joy passed over Carl as he again dipped the 
oars into the water, and felt the old, familiar 
motion of the boat. 

“Skating is delightful, but I believe boat- 
ing is better,” he said. 

Minnie flashed on him a reproachful glance, 
whereat he only laughed, and added: 

“You see, I am only following the adage 
that tells us not to 'change an old friend for a 
new/ ” 

They went far out upon the lake, which 
was almost as smooth as a mirror. As they at 
last turned shoreward, Minnie said: 

“Let us go by that old, tumble-down pier. 
We have never been past it, and it looks so 
picturesque.” 

Carl assented, and they came to it just as 
the sun was setting. 

“How suggestive it looks!” he remarked, 
gazing upon its tottering remains. “How it 

ii 


162 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


tells of the past. One can see in fancy the 
busy feet that have trodden it, and the many 
boats that have anchored by it in the long 
ago.” 

“Yes, indeed. And only see those tints in 
the water just beyond it. This is one of the 
loveliest views we have ever found. I wonder 
why we never came here before.” 

They had come quite close to the shore, 
upon the left of the pier, and Carl now placed 
his oars in rest, and allowed the dory to drift. 

In silence they feasted their eyes upon the 
beauties above and around them, too much 
impressed for speech. 

The sound of rapid steps upon the pier at- 
tracted Carl’s attention. 

A man came out to its furthest point, and 
stood for a moment looking down into the 
water. His back was towards the boat. 

And then, suddenly there was a splash, and 
he was gone. 

“Quick! A board must have broken aiid 
let him through,” Minnie cried in alarm. 


ON THE LAKE AND IN IT 163 

“The lake must be ever so deep out where he 
went down.” 

“It almost seemed as if he must have 
jumped in,” Carl said, as he rapidly pulled 
towards the spot where the man had gone 
down. “But, of course, he did not. I had 
looked away just before I heard the splash.” 

“Look! there he is!” Minnie cried. “And 
there is blood upon his face.” 

For a moment Carl saw a pale face, with a 
streak of red across it. Then it disappeared 
beneath the water. 

“He must have struck something as he 
went down,” he exclaimed. “He is not strug- 
gling. He must be unconscious.” 

The boat was now just over the spot where 
he had last disappeared. 

“There he is, over yonder. Take the oars, 
Minnie. I must jump in and get hold of him,” 
Carl cried. As he spoke he threw off his hat 
and coat, and the next moment he was in the 
lake. He grasped the man just as he was 
again going down. 


164 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


His weight was more than his young res- 
cuer had anticipated. Although inert, the body 
for a moment dragged Carl down. Then he 
attempted to swim, and to tow the man along. 
But this was slow work, hampered as the boy 
was with shoes and heavy clothing. 

“Wait,” called Minnie. “I will bring the 
boat up by you.” She did so, and added: 

“Now hold fast to it, and I will row 
ashore.” 

This was soon accomplished. It took all 
of Carl’s strength to get the man on land. The 
boy was something of an athlete, but this pass- 
ive figure was above the ordinary size and 
weight, and Carl’s strength had already been 
taxed in the water. 

“Why, it is Fred Lewis,” he exclaimed, in 
surprise, as he attentively gazed down into 
the pale face. 

With deepened interest he went to work 
to loosen the necktie and vest of the rescued 
man. Then he and Minnie began a vigorous 
chafing of hands and arms. 


ON THE LAKE AND IN IT 165 

Carl gently slapped him once or twice, and 
soon Fred opened his eyes. After staring 
about him for a moment, he sat up. He placed 
his hand to his temple, where there was a tiny 
gash, from which the blood slowly trickled. 
As he felt the wound, he seemed to fully re- 
cover consciousness. 

“Why did you pull me out?” he asked. 

“Because you would have drowned if I had 
left you alone. The plank upon which you 
were standing must have broken, and let you 
through,” Carl answered. 

Without another word Lewis staggered to 
his feet. 

“Wait,” Carl exclaimed, seeing he was 
going off. “Let me get a wagon. You are 
too weak to walk home.” 

Lewis actually laughed; but the laugh was 
not pleasant to hear. He merely said: 

“I ’m all right,” and went on. 

“Minnie, can you take the boat home?” 
Carl whispered. “I must go with him. He is 
so weak he may fall, unless I do.” 


1 66 PHILIP BAR TON » S SEC RE T 

f ' ; Yes, indeed,” the girl replied. “Do n’t 
let him go a step farther alone.” 

Carl paused to help her into the boat, and 
to place the oars in her hands. Then he fol- 
lowed Fred’s halting steps up the shore. 


CHAPTER XXII 

MIDNIGHT ON THE PIER 

JT was dark when Carl entered Mr. Weston’s 
1 door. Minnie met him on the threshold, 
just as Ralph ascended the steps. “Did you 
get him home all right?” the girl eagerly ques- 
tioned. 

“Yes. But he was determined at first that 
I should not go with him. But I insisted, and 
when we got to his home I went in with him. 
His mother was dreadfully scared when she 
saw our wet clothing. I told her how it hap- 
pened, and she was the most grateful woman 
you ever saw.” 

“Of whom are you speaking?” Ralph ques- 
tioned, coming up and laying his hand on 
Carl’s shoulder. 

“Fred Lewis.” 

And then he told of the startling experience 
of the past two hours, ending with: 

“I staid until his mother got him into dry 
167 


1 68 PHILIP BAP TON’S SECRET 

clothing; but he would not lie down. He per- 
sists that he is all right, and declares that he 
is as well able to be out as ever.” 

Ralph’s face was expressive of much anx- 
iety as he listened to Carl’s words, and after 
a question or two he hastily turned away. 

He was silent and preoccupied during sup- 
per, scarcely heeding his father’s comments 
upon Fred, when the afternoon’s adventure 
was told him. 

“It would have been the very best thing 
that could have happened to Lewis, had he 
been drowned,” Mr. Weston declared. “He 
is beyond all hope of reformation. The sooner 
such fellows are out of the way, the better.” 

Carl and Minnie looked rather shocked 
over these words, and noticing the expression 
upon their faces, he added: 

“I do n’t mean that it was not the right 
thing for you to try and save him. But had 
your efforts proved vain, it would have been 
the happiest thing for all who are interested 
in him.” 


MIDNIGHT ON THE PIER 169 

Ralph soon excused himself, and left the 
table before the others had finished the meal. 
He donned his heaviest overcoat, although the 
night was mild, and hastened down the street. 
When he paused, it was in front of Fred 
Lewis’s home. 

In answer to his knock, Mrs. Lewis came 
to the door. 

“Can I see Fred?” he asked. 

“He has just gone out,” was her reply. 
He saw the traces of tears upon her cheeks. 

“But after the accident on the pier, I should 
not have supposed he was fit to be out,” was 
his answer. 

“Indeed, sir, he ought to be in bed at this 
moment; but I have no power over him when 
he gets into these wild spells,” and she pressed 
her hand over her eyes. 

“Do you know where he went?” Ralph 
gently inquired. 

“To the saloon, I suppose. He looked so 
wild that I can’t rest, thinking about him,” 
and two big tears rolled down her thin face. 


170 


PHILIP BARTON’S SECRET 


“I will make an effort to find him, ,, Ralph 
said. “Try and not worry. If I come across 
him I may not bring him here, but take him 
where I can keep an eye upon him. He needs 
a man to deal with him, now that he has be- 
come so desperate.” 

“You are a good friend to him, Mr. Wes- 
ton,” the woman replied. “May God in 
heaven bless you for your kindness to him and 
to me!” 

Ralph walked briskly down to Brady's, 
where he expected to find the object of his 
quest. Fred was not there. Inquiries elicited 
the fact that he had just been in, but had 
stepped out only a moment before. 

After a brief pause, Ralph asked: 

“Is he drinking?” 

“That he is. He took two glasses while he 
was here, and said he wanted another, but his 
cash was all gone.” 

Ralph hurried away. He soon signaled 
a passing carriage, and after a moment's con- 
ference with the driver got in. He drove 


MIDNIGHT ON THE PIER 171 

about a block from the old pier, then got out, 
saying to the man: 

“Wait here until I come, no matter how 
late that may be. And keep still. I will pay 
you well for waiting.” 

Then he hurried to the pier, and looked 
about. The remains of a small building were 
upon his right. Only a few boards remained; 
but it would afford him the shelter he sought. 
He took up his position behind this, with face 
turned shoreward, and waited. As he waited, 
he mused: 

“If Barton is correct, I am in the right 
place. No doubt the poor fellow meant sui- 
cide this afternoon. But I am glad Carl and 
Minnie did not suspect this. It was hard 
enough on them as it was.” 

The moon soon arose, and under its beams 
the lake became a sheet of glittering silver. 

One, two, three hours passed, and no liv- 
ing object came near the old pier. Ralph be- 
gan to grow chilly, in spite of his heavy coat. 

Once he heard the sound of oars, and saw 


172 


PHILIP BAP TON'S SECRET 


a boat passing. But it was far out upon the 
lake. 

Another hour passed. He looked at his 
watch. The moon’s rays were so bright that 
he had little difficulty in telling the hour. 

“Half-past eleven. If he does not come 
by midnight, I may as well conclude that he 
has been too sharp for me,” he thought. 

A little anxiety began to oppress him, lest, 
while he was watching here, Fred might have 
sought death at some other point. 

Just as this thought began to take posses- 
sion of him he heard steps. He looked, and 
saw a man coming out upon the pier. He was 
bareheaded. 

In an instant Ralph saw that it was Fred. 
A hoarse laugh burst from the wretched man’s 
lips, as he muttered: 

“Guess I won’t swing, if that cursed Barton 
does reckon it. If my knife had only reached 
his heart, I would be satisfied. Ho! ho! guess 
no young chaps are about with their sweet- 
hearts, to fish me out this time.” 


MIDNIGHT ON THE PIER 


173 


Just before he got opposite to where Ralph 
was concealed, he started into a run. 

The next moment he was struggling in 
young Weston’s arms. 

“Come with me, Lewis,” Ralph said, 
quietly, but firmly. After a few ineffectual 
efforts to break from his grasp. Fred said: 

“Where do you want to carry me? To 
jail?” 

And then, with his arms still about the form 
of the weak and trembling man, Ralph tried 
to tell him of Barton’s love for him, and of his 
desire for his safety and welfare. 

Lewis listened, first sullenly, and then con- 
temptuously. But Ralph spoke with such 
impassioned earnestness, that at last he was 
partially convinced that Philip did not mean 
to inform against him. 

A little past midnight the carriage, with 
Ralph Weston and Fred Lewis seated inside, 
drove rapidly up the street. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


UNDER GUARD 

HTHE next morning, at an earlier hour than 
^ Philip was wont to receive a visitor, 
Ralph Weston was ushered into his room. 
“Your face brings good tidings/' Philip said, 
reaching to grasp his visitor’s extended hand. 

“How do you find yourself this morning?” 
Ralph inquired, gazing earnestly into the pale 
face lying against the pillow. 

“I had some restless hours during the 
night, but it was my mind more than my body 
that caused them,” was Barton’s reply. “Tell 
me about Fred,” and he fixed his eyes upon 
Ralph’s with an eagerness that compelled his 
visitor to quickly say: 

“Lewis is saved. He is in my bed at this 
moment soundly sleeping. And a brawny 
fellow is by him, with orders not to leave him 
i74 



RALPH WESTON AND FRED LEWIS ON THE PIER 

PAGE 174 



UNDER GUARD 


175 


alone for an instant until I revoke the com- 
mand.” 

Philip closed his eyes, and Ralph saw that 
his lips moved in prayer. When he again 
looked up, his face held such a light that Ralph 
unconsciously bowed his head upon his hand 
to hide his emotion. 

“1 would almost be willing at this moment 
to change places with this man, if thereby I 
might become the possessor of the joy that 
fills his soul,” was the thought of his heart. 

"Tell me about last night,” Philip said. “I 
was sure Fred was saved. I prayed till past 
midnight, and then such a sweet feeling of 
peace came to me, that I knew my Captain 
was at work, and that all was well. So I slept 
awhile, but waked early, full of praise to God 
for his unspeakable goodness. I wish you 
knew my Captain, Mr. Ralph.” 

“I wish I did,” burst impetuously from the 
young man’s lips. Then he hastened to add, 
half ashamed of this confession: “Lewis tried 


176 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


to drown himself twice yesterday. Once about 
sunset, and again about midnight.” 

And then he narrated the events of the 
previous afternoon and night, ending with: 

“He was all broken up by the time I got 
him home. I really made him understand 
at last that you had had no more to do with 
his being discharged from the shop than had 
the man in the moon. When once this fact 
got down into his conscience, he was a 
changed man.” A happy smile played on 
Philip’s lips, but he did not speak. 

“I had often tried to make him understand 
this before, but he would not listen,” Ralph 
continued. “But last night, after I got him 
into the carriage, where he could not get 
away from me, I told him about your begging 
me to intercede with father to take him back 
after he had been turned away. And I also 
impressed upon him the fact that you had 
never let me rest, day nor night, since, but 
were always urging me to follow him up, and 
save him. ‘If it was any one but you, Mr. 


UNDER GUARD 


177 


Ralph, telling me this, I should say it was a 
pack of lies/ he said at last. *1 can’t half seem 
to believe it, even from you.’ But I saw he 
did believe me, in spite of his desire not to; 
so I went on to tell him that it was you who 
had been sending his mother money all along, 
while he was leaving her to starve.” 

Here Philip interrupted with the surprised 
question: 

“How did you know?” 

Ralph laughed. 

“O that was an easy riddle to solve. When 
Mrs. Lewis told me that some one was regu- 
larly sending her money, I only had to put 
two and two together to know who that 
Somebody’ was. This got hold of Fred more 
than anything else. 

“ ‘Are you sure of what you are telling me?’ 
he asked. And I could see he was all in a 
quiver. 

“ ‘As sure as that your name is Fred Lewis/ 
I answered. 

“At that he covered his face with his hands, 


12 


1 78 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


and never moved nor spoke until the carriage 
drew up before our door. 

“He was as meek as a lamb when I told 
him where I was going to put him, and that 
I was determined to see that not a drop of 
whisky reached him until he was a changed 
man, so that he would sooner die than touch 
it again. 

“I turned the carriage driver into a guard, 
by using a small bribe, and as soon as he could 
take care of his horses, and get another man 
to look after them while he was with me, he 
came back. 

“We got Lewis to bed, after we had given 
him a hot bath. He was utterly exhausted, 
and immediately fell into a deep sleep, from 
which he had not awakened when I went in 
to look after him before I came around to see 
you.” 

“Does his mother know about him?” Bar- 
ton inquired. 

“Yes; I got the driver to go by and tell 
her as he drove to the stables last night. I 


UNDER GUARD 


179 


knew the poor thing was in an agony of fear 
and apprehension, and so it proved. The man 
says he found her standing on the steps cry- 
ing, and watching up and down the street for 
her boy. Some mothers have a hard time, 
Barton. I wonder why it is they can not let 
their worthless children go, but must needs 
break their hearts over them?” 

Philip smiled, as he replied: 

“Their love is more like God’s love than 
anything else on earth. And yet he tells us, 
in his blessed Word, that a mother may forget 
her sucking child, but that he will never for- 
get a soul that trusts in him.” 

A soft light came into Ralph’s eyes as he 
listened. He seemed to ponder the words a 
moment. 

Philip continued, in a low tone: 

“ 'Behold, I have graven thee upon the 
palms of my hands.’ Those are precious 
words, Mr. Ralph.” 

“I must go now,” the young man said, ab- 
ruptly rising. “I do n’t know what father 


180 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

will say when he finds that Lewis is in the 
house. He has no affection for him; considers 
him beyond the possibility of reformation.” 

“The king’s heart is in the hand of the 
Lord, as the rivers of water. He turneth it 
whithersoever he will,” Barton rejoined. “I 
will tell my Captain about him, and ask him 
to put such love into Mr. Weston’s heart for 
Fred, that he will be as anxious as you or I 
to help save him.” 

“He will have to perform a miracle then,” 
Ralph said. “Father is bitter against him, 
and he is a man who never changes.” 


CHAPTER XXIY 


A CONTRITE HEART 

IT is impossible to imagine the mental agony 

through which Fred Lewis passed during 
the next week. Nor was he exempt from 
physical pain. No man can partake of strong 
drink so constantly, and for so long a period 
as had he, and break the habit without intense 
physical suffering. 

Every nerve in his body seemed crying out 
for the accustomed stimulant. 

Upon two occasions the man who was 
placed as guard over him was forced to exert 
all the strength at his command, to keep him 
from breaking from his custody in search of 
whisky. 

Soon after one of these struggles, Mr. Wes- 
ton tapped at the door. 

When he entered Fred was in a state of 

reaction, and his quivering face and trembling 
181 


1 82 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


hands told the tale of suffering as no words 
could do. 

The harshness faded from the stern face of 
his visitor, and Lewis, who had anticipated 
only reproaches, was amazed to hear Mr. Wes- 
ton speak in a voice almost as gentle and com- 
passionate as a woman’s: 

“Poor boy! You are finding it hard lines 
to break away from your evil habits.” 

Fred covered his face with his shaking 
hands; but made no reply. 

“I will sit with Lewis for an hour. You 
may go for an airing, if you like,” Mr. Weston 
continued, turning to the attendant, whose 
name was Potter. 

“Thank you, sir. I will be back in less than 
that time,” and the man gladly withdrew. 

That hour revealed Mr. Weston in a new 
character to the disgraced and discouraged 
young man before him. Which one was the 
more surprised by this revelation, Fred or Mr. 
Weston himself, it is difficult to tell. 

Certain it is that the upright, austere man 


A CONTRITE HEART 183 

had entered the room with the avowed pur- 
pose of “giving that vagabond, Lewis, a piece 
of my mind.” 

This meant bitter upbraiding and sharp 
condemnation for his long course of sin and 
folly. 

Instead of this, such helpful words of en- 
couragement came from him as almost broke 
the penitent fellow’s heart. 

At last Fred said, in a trembling voice: 

“I can’t seem to bear your kind words, sir. 
If you would talk to me as I deserve, I might 
be a man. But this makes a woman of me.” 

“Well, be a woman for once, then,” was the 
reply. “You have been a wicked and desper- 
ate man long enough. You are now going to 
change. Perhaps it is just as well to begin 
in this way as in any other. I rather like it 
in you, Lewis. It shows that your heart is 
still in the right place. I expect to see you, 
at no distant day, one of the most valued work- 
men in my shop.” 

Lewis lifted his face from his hands, too 


184 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


much amazed to find words with which to 
reply. 

“Yes, in spite of the past, this is just what I 
now expect,” Mr. Weston continued. “I will 
give you time to get over all the results of 
your folly, and then, when you are the sober, 
upright, willing workman that I want, your 
old place in the shop will be ready for you.” 

While Fred was trying to stammer out his 
gratitude and thanks, Ralph entered the room. 
He had known of his father’s intended call 
upon Lewis, and had dreaded the effect upon 
the unhappy culprit. 

As he now looked upon Fred’s face, in 
which a new hope was plainly visible, min- 
gled with a grateful affection for the hitherto 
stern man beside him, Ralph took a chair in 
silence. From Fred he turned to his father. 
What he read upon his face caused him to say 
to his own heart: 

“Barton’s Captain has heard his prayer, 
sure enough, and has gone to work. Father 
looks like another man.” 


A CONTRITE HEART 


185 


When Potter got back to his post, he found 
his charge so altered, both in appearance and 
temper, that he felt his services would not 
much longer be required. 

“How is Barton, to-day?” Mr. Weston in- 
quired of his son, as they descended the stairs 
together. 

“Mending. But it will be two weeks or 
more before he can be at work.” 

“When you see him again, Ralph, tell him 
that his wages will go right on, just the same 
as though he was in the shop every day. This 
is only right, and he would better know about 
it at once before he begins to worry over the 
loss.” 

“Very well, father. I am glad you under- 
stand what a valuable man he is. I will go 
right down now, and tell him, for I am sure 
it will help him to know of your kindness.” 

“It’s not kindness; it’s only justice,” Mr. 
Weston hastened to say. 

A few days later Fred Lewis walked into 
Philip Barton’s room. 


1 86 PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 

The latter was sitting, propped up by pil- 
lows, in his bed. His face was still deathlike 
in its pallor; but the radiance of its expression, 
as he recognized his visitor, quite upset 
Lewis’s feigned composure. 

He sank upon his knees by the bed, saying: 

“You look as if it was your best friend who 
had come to see you, instead of your would-be 
murderer.” 

“Hush!” Philip said, laying a finger over 
Fred’s lips. “Never speak that word again. 
That Lewis is dead. This Lewis is my friend 
and comrade, the man whom I love as a 
brother.” 

Fred was not ashamed that sobs he could 
not repress escaped from him as he listened to 
these words. 

“And can you really forgive me, Phil?” he 
said at last, gulping down a sob, and raising 
his eyes to Philip’s face. 

“As I hope to be forgiven,” was Barton’s 
reply. “Indeed, I forgave you at the moment, 
Fred, for I knew just how it was with you. 


A CONTRITE HEART 


1 87 


And now let the past be as a sealed book be- 
tween us. We have only to do with the 
present. You are a changed man, and Mr. 
Ralph tells me that when I am able to again 
go to work I shall find you in your old place 
in the shop. Surely my Captain is causing my 
cup to run over with blessings.” 


CHAPTER XXY 


A WELCOME LETTER 

ARL’S delight over the change in Lewis 
^ was more volubly expressed, even if less 
deep, than Philip’s. He looked upon it as a 
clear answer to prayer, and his faith was not 
a little strengthened thereby. 

He never visited Barton without feeling 
that a fresh blessing came to him from the in- 
terview. 

Philip talked more freely to him about spir- 
itual things than to any other person. He 
recognized the boy’s deep desire to live as be- 
comes a good soldier of the cross, and he 
longed to help him. He knew that the godless 
atmosphere of his present home was not con- 
ducive, from a human standpoint, to his 
growth in grace, but rather to a gradual con- 
formity to the world, and its ways and opin- 
ions 


188 


A WELCOME LETTER 


189 


“You see, your Captain is proving his sol- 
dier these days,” Philip said to him one after- 
noon, after Carl had told him of some of the 
subtle temptations which constantly came to 
him through Ralph and Mr. Weston. “He 
wants to see whether you are really His, or 
only His in name.” 

The boy’s face looked very grave. After 
a moment’s silence, he said: 

“I shall never know just how much I owe 
to you for those brave words you spoke that 
Sunday I went riding with Mr. Ralph. Had 
you kept silent, or had you yielded as easily 
as I had done, there is no telling where I 
might not now be. It was no accident, I am 
sure, that brought us together that Sunday.” 

“There are no accidents with God,” Philip 
reverently replied. “If the hairs of our head 
are all numbered, so must every step we take 
be ordered. I love to believe this, and I try 
to walk very carefully lest I go aside from the 
path my Captain has marked out for me.” 

“And do you suppose it was His will for 


190 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


me to be sent here, away from my mother, and 
placed among wholly irreligious people?” Carl 
asked. 

“Can you doubt it?” Barton responded, 
with a shade of reproach in his tone. “Eter- 
nity alone will show all that your coming here 
may have wrought. Sam Weston will never 
forget your influence, even should he grow 
to be a thoroughly bad man. Mr. Ralph says 
of you, ‘that you live the squarest life of any 
boy he ever saw/ And he is wide enough 
awake to see that it is your Captain’s power 
that enables you thus to live.” 

“I feel uneasy about home,” Carl said, after 
a long silence spent in deep thought. “Moth- 
er’s usual letter has failed to come this week. 
I am sure she is far from well, although she 
does not tell me so.” 

Philip reached under his pillow, and took 
out his Bible. 

“Let me give you a verse to take into your 
soul,” he said, turning to the 112th Psalm. 


A WELCOME LETTER 


191 

“Listen: ‘He shall not be afraid of evil tidings. 
His heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord/ ” 

“That is precious/' Carl responded, with 
brightening eyes. 

“When our hearts are really fixed upon 
God, nothing can disturb or make us afraid," 
Philip added. 

Carl never lost the influence of that hour's 
conversation. 

The following morning the postman 
brought a letter to him, which caused him 
keen pleasure. It was from Sam. In it was 
a five-dollar bill. 

Sam said, after some preliminary words of 
greeting: 

“Perhaps you think I have forgotten about 
that V which you loaned me. Or you may 
think me such a ‘cad' that I do n't mean to 
pay you, even if I have not forgotten it. I 
do n't blame you, Carl, if you do think so. 
But I inclose it. It is out of the first allow- 
ance I have had since I came home. 


192 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“1 wish I could see you, Carl; but I remem- 
ber some things you said to me, and they help 
me. 

“I am trying to live on the square. I find 
it hard work. I wonder how it always seemed 
so easy for you. 

“I wish you would write to a fellow soon, 
and give me all the news. 

I ’d send love to the others, but I suppose 
they would have no use for it. And I do n’t 
wonder. Yours, Sam.” 

“P. S. — Holloway is in jail for murder. 
Killed a fellow in Texas while drunk.” 

“I will write to him to-morrow,” Carl 
thought, as he folded the letter, and put it in 
his pocket. 

But the morrow brought with it other 
things so absorbing that Sam’s letter was 
wholly driven from his thoughts. Not until 
many weeks had passed did he again recall 
his intention of writing at once. 

The entire household, Jake included, was 


A WELCOME LETTER 


1 93 


deeply pleased to hear that Sam was well, and,, 
as Ralph expressed it, “was trying to make a 
man out of himself.” 

When told about Holloway, the latter re- 
marked: 

“As the popular obituary puts it, that fel- 
low’s ‘loss is Sam’s gain.’ His fate will be like 
a living sign-board, showing where whisky 
and cards are apt to land a fellow. Nothing 
better for Sam could have happened.” 

Carl permitted Minnie to read her cousin’s 
letter, and if Sam could have seen her spark- 
ling eyes as she finished it, he would never 
again have doubted the abiding character of 
her affection. 

“When you write, Carl, give him lots and 
lots of love from me,” she said. “And tell him 
we all expect him to grow to be just the no- 
blest man in the world.” 

Miss Weston also had various messages for 
her nephew, to whom she was deeply attached, 
and Carl found that the contemplated letter 
would probably be a lengthy one. 


194 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SECRET 


“I must write him all about Fred Lewis, 
and how he has changed, and about Barton,” 
he thought, almost tempted to begin the miss- 
ive that very night. “And I must not forget 
to tell him how kindly Professor Fisher and 
the others inquire after him. How glad I am 
that I have such good news for them to-mor- 
row! It hurts them for one of their students 
to go to the bad, especially one as young as 
Sam. They do n’t seem to feel the same re- 
sponsibility about Holloway and the others, 
for they were wild before they came to Nor- 
wood. But it ’s different with Sam and Hale. 
They were both led away while in college.” 

Thus musing, he sat down to his books, 
expecting to put in an evening of hard work. 


CHAPTER XXYI 


SUMMONED HOME 

ARL had been engaged over his studies 
^ only a few moments, when there came a 
hurried knock upon his door. Opening it, he 
was much surprised to see Mr. Weston stand- 
ing before him. He entered without apology, 
and stood a moment looking thoughtfully into 
the bright face before him, ere he spoke: 

“I have bad news for you, my boy,” he at 
length said, placing a hand kindly upon Carl’s 
shoulder. 

“About what?” the boy inquired, for an in- 
stant not suspecting the truth. 

Something in Mr. Weston’s face enlight- 
ened him. 

“It is from home; about my mother,” he 
added, in a low tone. “What is it?” 

“She is ill, very ill. Your father sent me 
i95 


196 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET. 


a telegram, asking me to get you off on the 
first train.” 

Carl shaded his eyes for a moment with his 
hand. “My heart is fixed. I will not fear evil 
tidings,” he said to himself. “Help me, O 
Iyord, to wholly trust thee ! Do not let me be 
afraid.” 

“What train can I take?” he inquired a 
minute later, in so calm a voice that Mr. Wes- 
ton felt a weight rolled away from him. 
Knowing that Carl was an only child, and also 
something of the strong tie that existed be- 
tween mother and son, he had feared a painful 
scene when the boy learned of her extreme 
danger. 

“If you hurry, you can catch the 8.20,” he 
replied. 

Here Ralph came in, saying: 

“ L,et me put your things in your trunk for 
you. I am a famous packer. I had so much 
of it to do, you know, while I was abroad.” 

Each one in the little home-circle made 
some offer of assistance, and with a grateful 


SUMMONED HOME 


197 


heart Carl accepted whatever he thought 
would speed his departure. 

Mr. Weston, Ralph, and Minnie accom- 
panied him to the depot. It was a silent drive, 
for all knew that his heart was too anxious 
to permit of ordinary conversation. 

“Did father say what her sickness was?” 
he asked, as they neared the station. 

“He merely called it exhaustion. Probably 
it is a case of nervous prostration. Keep up 
your courage, my boy. I know your mother 
well. She has a fine constitution, although 
her appearance is fragile. Such people often 
outlive those of far more robust physique.” 

As he spoke, Mr. Weston laid a hand upon 
Carl's knee. The boy felt that the touch was 
meant as a caress, and he replied: 

“You are very kind, indeed. I do n't know 
how to thank you; but I feel deeply grateful 
for all your kindness to me since I came to 
you. If she — ” here his voice faltered a 
little — “if my mother lives, she will know how 
to thank you.” 


198 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


The train was already in, and he had not a 
moment to lose. Hurried good-byes were 
said; the bell sounded, the engine puffed, and 
Carl was speeding away into the night, has- 
tening to meet a sorrow as overwhelming as 
it was sudden. 

Rapt in thought, he paid little attention 
to his fellow-travelers. The coach was not 
crowded, and he was glad to find that he could 
have a seat all to himself. Mr. Weston had 
urged his taking a sleeper, but Carl preferred 
not doing this. 

“They are so close and stuffy,” he said, 
“after the curtains are down, that I can hardly 
breathe. And I would rather sit up to-night. 
If I want to sleep, I can use my valise for a 
pillow, and take a nap right in the seat where 
I am.” 

The long hours wore away, but he felt no 
inclination toward slumber. People about him 
were sleeping, fixed in all kinds of droll atti- 
tudes. Had he been less absorbed in his own 
sad thoughts, he would have found much 


SUMMONED HOME 


199 


amusement in some of these silent figures. 
As it was, with a flitting smile over the absurd 
spectacle presented by one or two of his un- 
conscious neighbors, he turned to the window, 
and soon forgot his surroundings in a train 
of thought that held him as motionless as the 
slumbering forms around him. 

He had reckoned the time it would take 
to make the journey, and knew the very mo- 
ment he would reach the city of his love and 
longing. 

Towards midnight he took out his little 
pocket Bible, and read, with moist eyes, the 
46th Psalm. His mother’s hand had traced a 
line around the opening verse. 

“I need this Refuge and this Help now, as 
I never did before,” he murmured. 

“Are there any pictures in your book?” 
said a low voice near him. 

He turned, and saw a boy just behind him, 
intently regarding his Bible: He was about 
eight years of age. 

The child was a cripple, and Carl recol- 


200 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


lected having noticed him when he first en- 
tered the car. 

“No; not a single picture,” he replied. 
“Why do n’t you go to sleep, like the rest of 
the people about us?” he asked, looking into 
his bright eyes. 

“O, my back pains me so, I can’t go to 
sleep. I tried to after father went into the 
smoking-car, but I could not,” he replied, 
wearily. 

After a moment’s struggle with himself, 
Carl arose and took a seat by his small neigh- 
bor’s side. 

“Do you like to listen to stories?” he in- 
quired. 

“Yes, indeed. Will you tell me one?” was 
the quick answer. 

“What shall it be about?” Carl asked, with 
a smile, as he noted the child’s eager face. 

“O, anything you choose. Mother used 
to tell me Bible stories before she died, and I 
liked them better than any others. Do you 
know any Bible stories?” 


SUMMONED HOME 


201 


“Yes, indeed, and I would rather tell one 
of those than any other kind. Suppose I be- 
gin with Moses?” 

With a happy sigh the child settled back 
into his seat, fixed his bright eyes upon Carl’s 
face, and said: 

“Now you may begin, please.” 

For over an hour Carl sat there and told 
stories to his eager listener. The history of 
Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph 
had been given, and he was wondering where 
next to begin, when the boy’s lids drooped 
drowsily, and he murmured: 

“Th — thank you. I ’m getting too — too 
sleepy to listen any longer. They were 
lo — lovely stories.” 

Carl fixed him in a comfortable position 
upon the seat, and returned to his own window 
with a happy glow in his heart. 

In helping the crippled boy pass a weary 
hour, he had also won a blessing for himself. 
His thoughts had been forced out of their sad 
channel, and he felt a drowsiness stealing over 


202 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


him that he gladly welcomed. In a few mo- 
ments he was sleeping soundly, and in his 
dreams he was with his mother. She was well, 
and her face looked to him more beautiful 
than he had ever before seen it. 


CHAPTER XXYII 


AT HOME 

| T was a long day for Carl which followed his 

night of wakefulness upon the train. He 
passed it as best he could. At various times 
he helped his little crippled neighbor to spend 
an hour less wearily than would otherwise 
have been the case. He was the more ready to 
do this because he saw that the child’s father 
was less careful in looking after his wants than 
he should have been. 

In the afternoon he fell into a deep sleep, 
and did not awaken until the train was within 
an hour’s run of Nashville. Greatly refreshed, 
and with renewed hope and courage thrilling 
through his heart, he sat by the window and 
watched the tints of sunset fade into night. 
His soul went up in earnest prayer for the dear 
one who might, even then, be passing through 
the dark valley. 


203 


204 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


He knew, unless his mother’s condition was 
indeed very critical, his father would be at the 
depot to meet him. He looked eagerly out as 
the train glided in, to try and find the loved 
and familiar figure. But he could not see 
him, and without losing a moment after the 
train stopped, he passed out. As he stepped 
upon the platform, his quick eye caught sight 
of a well-known black face. Its owner was 
standing respectfully on one side of the mov- 
ing throng. He came quickly forward, how- 
ever, as he saw Carl. It was their gray-haired 
butler, Uncle Prince. 

“How is mother?” was the boy’s first ques- 
tion, after he had grasped the old man’s hand 
in kindly greeting. 

“She ’s bad off, young mastah. Yo’ pa 
’lowed toh come an’ meet yo’ hisself, but at de 
las’ minnit she ’peared toh be a-sinkin’, an’ he 
sent me.” 

Jack, the driver, like Uncle Prince, had 
been in the Bachman family for years. He 
greeted Carl with such effusive affection as 


AT HOME 


205 


sent a feeling of joy through the boy’s heart. 
A sweet home-feeling thrilled him, which was 
deepened as Jack said, while placing his trav- 
eling traps in the carriage: 

“Yo’ ma ’ll git well now, mastah Carl. One 
look intah yo’ face ’ll do huh mo’ good den all 
de medicine de doctah’s a-gibin huh.” 

His own heart echoed these words, and it 
was with rekindled hope that he sank back on 
the carriage seat, with the order: 

“Drive fast, Jack.” 

“Aye ! Dat I will. De hosses is mos’ ready 
toh fly, a-waitin’ foh de train toh cum,” was 
the man’s answer. 

The next moment the carriage was rolling 
up the street so rapidly that Carl’s impatience 
was fully satisfied. 

His father met him upon the piazza steps. 

He spoke no word of greeting; but placing 
his arms about the boy, he pressed him for a 
moment against his breast. 

As Carl looked up into his face, an excla- 
mation of pain escaped him. The strong, 


206 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


handsome countenance was thin and haggard, 
and dark circles under the eyes told of care, 
sleeplessness, and harrowing anxiety. 

“Has she been sick long?” the boy asked, 
in a low voice. 

“Longer than you dream. I did not realize 
her condition until it was too late. Had I 
done so, her present state might have been 
averted.” 

“Is — is she conscious?” Carl could 
scarcely command this voice to ask this ques- 
tion. 

Mr. Bachman placed both hands upon his 
boy’s shoulders, and gazed sorrowfully into 
his eyes as he answered: 

“No, Carl. Nor has she been for three days 
and nights.” 

For a moment the boy turned aside, and 
covered his face with his hands. 

“We hope that your presence and your 
voice will arouse her,” his father continued. 
“This is our last hope. If this fails, the doc- 
tors think she will — ” but he did not finish his 


AT HOME 


207 


sentence. Emotions too strong for control 
choked his utterance. 

“May I go in to her now?” Carl asked. 

“You must eat something first. The cook 
has dinner all ready for you,” was his father’s 
answer, as he turned towards the dining-room. 

“But, father, I could not take a mouthful 
of food,” the boy declared. “It would choke 
me. 

“For your mother’s sake, you must try. 
You look pale and worn. You must be strong 
and self-possessed before you can see her. 
Should she arouse, any excitement would be 
fatal,” Mr. Bachman responded. 

When he reached the table, Carl tried to 
partake of some of the appetizing food before 
him. He noted that the cook had prepared 
his favorite dishes, but they did not tempt him. 
The burden upon his heart was too heavy to 
permit of more than a taste. 

He saw that his father merely toyed with 
his knife and fork; but not a mouthful of food 
passed his lips. But he drank a cup of strong 


208 


PHILIP BARTON’S SECRET 


coffee, and said, as he noted Carl’s ineffectual 
efforts to eat: 

“Well, take a cup of coffee. It will steady 
your nerves.” 

“My nerves are steady, father. See,” and 
he held out his hand. Not a tremor moved it. 
Then he added: “I never drink coffee, you 
know, and I really require nothing. You need 
not fear that I will excite her, if she arouses.” 

“Very well. If you are sure of yourself, 
let us go up. I have not left her so long be- 
fore for days,” was Mr. Bachman’s reply, as 
he looked searchingly into his son’s face. 

The family physician, Dr. Phelps, met them 
at the door of the sick-room. Another med- 
ical adviser, whom Carl recognized as Dr. 
Douglas, who was an accepted authority upon 
all nervous troubles, sat by the couch upon 
which Mrs. Bachman lay. 

After some minute directions, given in a 
low tone, Dr. Phelps led Carl towards the bed. 

With heart uplifted to God, the boy looked 
down upon the face dearest to him upon earth. 


CHAPTER XXYIII 


THE DARK VALLEY 

I N spite of what his father had told him, Carl 

was greatly startled by the extreme pallor 
and emaciation of the loved countenance. For 
a moment he feared that death had already 
claimed her. He touched her hand. It was 
warm, and a thrill of thankful joy went 
through him. 

“Speak to her. Speak naturally and 
calmly,” Dr. Douglas said. 

“Remember, if she arouses, the least ex- 
citement on your part will prove fatal to her,” 
Dr. Phelps urged, looking keenly into Carl’s 
face. What he saw there seemed to reassure 
him. 

“In one sense, her life is now in your 
hands,” he added. 

Carl knelt by the bed, and placed an arm 

over the silent form stretched upon it. 

14 209 


210 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“Mother,” he said, gently, “mother, wake 
up.” 

Anxious eyes were watching, hoping to see 
her pale lids open. But not a tremor stirred 
them. 

Carl bent towards her, until his breath 
fanned her cheek. 

“Mother, dear, won’t you wake up? Carl is 
calling you; your own Carl.” 

But her ears were silent to his loving voice. 

He bent and pressed his lips to her cheek 
again and again, saying, between each caress: 

“Mother! Mother!” 

Never before had she been deaf to his voice 
or heedless of his kisses. 

Very tenderly he began to stroke her hands, 
and then to smooth the curling tendrils of her 
hair, still pleading with her to open her eyes 
and speak to him. 

Then he bethought him of a pet name he 
had loved to call her in the past years, when 
he was but a little chap who could not bear to 
be parted from her for an hour. She had al- 



DR. PHELPS AND CARL AT THE BEDSIDE 


PAGE 210 






THE DARK VALLEY 


211 


ways loved the name, and he now recollected, 
with a throb of keen regret, that he had for- 
gotten to use it when addressing her for a 
long, long time. 

“Momity, momity, darling,” he said. 
“Won’t you open your eyes and speak to your 
Carl, to your own boysie?” 

But the long lashes did not lift, and not a 
tremor passed over the silent form. 

A long sigh came from Dr. Phelps. He 
laid his hand upon Carl’s shoulder. 

“That will do,” he said. 

“Is there really no hope, doctor?” the boy 
asked, with quivering lips. 

“This was our last test,” the physician re- 
plied. 

With a powerful effort, Carl mastered his 
emotions, and asked: 

“How long do you think she will live?” 

“Not many hours,” was the reply. The 
doctor’s tone was compassionate. 

“She can not last through the night. Her 
pulse grows fainter every moment.” 


212 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


As he spoke, he laid his finger upon the 
delicate wrist. 

“I must go,” Dr. Douglas now said. “I 
can do no good by remaining.” 

He drew Dr. Phelps aside, and conferred 
with him for a moment, saying, as he turned 
away: 

“Nothing more can be done. Even the bat- 
tery will make no impression upon her now.” 

Then he passed out, and left the three 
watchers alone. 

The nurse came in from an adjoining room; 
but Mr. Bachman motioned to her to with- 
draw, and she quietly did so. 

Who may paint the emotions that swept 
over Carl Bachman’s heart as he sat by that 
silent form, and felt that every passing mo- 
ment brought his mother’s feet deeper and 
deeper within the valley of the shadow of 
death. 

His own sorrow was so overwhelming that 
he had utterly forgotten the presence of his 
father. 


THE DARK VALLEY 


213 


In fancy he lived again the days of his child- 
hood. Was ever a mother so tender, so gentle, 
as this mother had been? And then he saw 
her as the years passed on, and as he recalled 
how her whole life had been given to him, 
her one thought ever being how best to help 
him reach a noble Christian manhood, he 
laid his cheek against her hand, and his tears 
fell fast. 

With a shiver he felt that the dear hand 
had grown colder, and, with a sob he could 
not repress, he bent and pressed his lips to her 
unresponsive ones. 

The doctor went over and stood by the 
window. There was nothing he could now do 
but watch the sands of life ebb away. It was a 
sad hour to him, with that brave boy’s heart 
breaking under its weight of sorrow, and with 
the haggard, self-controlled face of Mr. Bach- 
man telling of an agony of heart and soul that 
was really appalling to one who could read it. 

As the hours passed, with no change in the 
pale face of the one dearest upon earth to him, 


214 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


the shadow of despair crept close to Carl’s 
heart. 

For the first time in his life doubts of God’s 
love came to him. How could a kind Heav- 
enly Father thus take from his child all that 
made life worth the living? Had he not prom- 
ised to supply the needs of every trusting 
heart? Was not the need of his mother’s 
presence, of her love and words of counsel, 
the greatest need in his life? Who could ever 
take her place? Was God true to his Word, 
in thus robbing him of her? No incentive to 
a pure and holy life could ever be to him 
what her Christlike walk and ways had ever 
been. 

As he looked upon her now, it almost 
seemed that he could see a halo of light 
around her brow. Surely, if God loved him 
as his Word declared, this saintly mother 
would be spared to him. 

As these thoughts filled his heart, a great 
wave of doubt and horror rolled over him. 


THE DARK VALLEY 


215 


This was his first overmastering encounter 
with the adversary of souls. 

In a dim way he comprehended his danger, 
and, falling upon his knees, he cried out: 

“O mother, mother! Do n’t leave your 
boy! What will become of me if you go 
away?” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A VOW 

7TS that cry of anguish burst from Carl’s lips, 
his father came and stood beside him. 
“Do n’t, Carl, do n’t; I can’t bear it,” he whis- 
pered. The whisper was almost a gasp. 

For a moment the boy did not seem to 
comprehend that it was his father who spoke. 
When he did, he shrank away from him, and 
said, slowly: 

“I see it now. I know just how it hap- 
pened. You sent me away from her, and the 
separation has killed her. O father, how could 
you be so cruel to her! It is almost as if you 
had murdered her.” 

As he spoke, he looked up into Mr. Bach- 
man’s face. The agony thereon depicted 
brought the boy to his senses. 

“Forgive me, father,” he said. “I hardly 
know what I am saying. Do forgive me! I 

did not mean to say such dreadful things.” 

216 


A VOW 


217 


“They are all true,” his father replied. “I 
wonder you do not hate me.” 

There had been something so closely akin 
to hatred in his heart towards him a moment 
before that the boy shuddered. 

Dr. Phelps, knowing that his presence was 
not needed, and feeling that it might be best 
to leave father and son alone with the dying 
woman, went into the adjoining room. 

It was a relief to him to get away from that 
atmosphere of suffering, and he sank into the 
easy-chair which the nurse rolled up before 
the grate for him, with a grateful sigh. 

As the door closed behind him, Mr. Bach- 
man, with a groan, sank upon his knees by 
Carl’s side. 

“Carl,” he said, in a voice husky with emo- 
tion, “I want you to pray to your God for me. 
I want you to tell him something.” 

For a moment, surprise sealed the boy’s 
lips. Then he asked: 

“What do you want him to know, father?” 

“O, I can hardly tell you,” he replied. “I 


218 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


feel that it is because of me that he is taking 
your mother from you. It is against me that 
his wrath burns hot. It is to punish me that 
this awful blow has come.” 

“Father,” Carl said, a quick thought, 
heaven-sent as he always believed, thrilling 
his heart with sudden hope, “tell God yourself 
just what you want him to know. He will 
hear you, and he will answer you. His Word 
is pledged.” 

“I never prayed in my life,” Mr. Bachman 
replied. “How could I, when I never believed 
there was a God to whom prayer could be 
offered?” 

“But you believe in Him now, father. Do 
pray! Perhaps he will spare mother to us if 
you will, and if you will tell him all that is in 
your heart.” 

There was a minute of unbroken silence. 
Then Mr. Bachman’s voice broke the stillness, 
saying: 

“O God, to-night, for the first time, I be- 
lieve there is a God. You know why I believe 


A VOW 


219 


it. Your hand is heavy upon me, and I know 
it is the hand of a very God.” 

After these words there was a long silence. 
Then the voice again began: 

“You are showing me so many things to- 
night, O God, that my heart is stricken as 
with death. I want to promise you something. 
You are the God whom my wife and my boy 
love. For their sakes hear me. If you will 
spare my wife, and make her well and strong, 
I promise solemnly that I will never cross her 
wish again about the boy. He shall preach 
for you, if you want him. He shall be any- 
thing that she and you ask him to be.” 

Again there was silence. Only the labored 
breathing of a strong man in agony of soul 
broke the stillness of the room. 

Carl was pleading, as for his own soul, that 
God would hear his father’s cries. For his 
prayer was more of a cry than a petition. 

Again he spoke, and this time his voice was 
broken. 

“O God! — O God! — if you will hear and 


220 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


answer — if you can hear and answer such a 
man as I have been — I will promise — if you 
will help me — if you will give me back my 
wife — I will promise — I do promise — that I 
will be different. I will try to love you — O 
God — I will — I will! Do hear me!” 

“Father, say 'for Jesus' sake,' ” Carl whis- 
pered, passing his arm across the shoulders of 
the kneeling man. 

“I ask you to hear this prayer, O God, for 
Jesus' sake," came from the quivering lips. 
It sounded like a wail, and tears were stream- 
ing from Carl's eyes as he stood upon his feet. 

“I am sure mother will live," he said, softly. 
“O, I am sure of it. I feel God's presence 
about me as never before." 

Then he bent over the bed, and called 
gently: 

“Mother, mother, open your eyes! Speak 
to me. It is Carl." 

As he watched the colorless face lying 
against the pillows, he was not surprised to 
see a tremor pass over it. 


A VOW 


221 


“Mother, wake up. Momity, dear! Mom- 
ity — it is your boysie who is calling you.” 

The lids opened, and a faint whisper came 
from the pale lips: 

“It is my little Carl who calls me. Jesus 
told me I must come to him.” 

Mrs. Bachman’s convalescence was rapid. 
It was wonderful to see how the color came 
back to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. 

As she recovered her strength, it was no- 
ticeable that there was a freshness about her, 
a breath of youth and vivacity that had seemed 
wholly lost before her illness. 

“Is it any wonder that I am a girl again?” 
she said to her husband, with happy eyes fixed 
upon his face, one day, when he had told her 
of her resuscitated youth. “Is it any wonder, 
when my husband, who was dead, is now 
alive? O, it seems too precious to be true.” 

There was no trouble now about Carl’s 
entering Vanderbilt University. 


CHAPTER XXX 


AT THE CHAPEL DOOR 

7Y FEW brief glimpses at some of our Rid- 
** ley friends, and our simple story is ended. 
Our first glance will be directed to the shop. 
The firm now reads, “Weston & Son,” and the 
workmen feel much pride in the genial young 
master. His interest in them is shown in a 
hundred little ways, which win their hearts 
while it inspires them to more faithful service. 

We find Fred Lewis in his old place oppo- 
site Barton. But his face is so changed that 
one would scarcely recognize this smiling, 
hopeful one for the sullen, discontented coun- 
tenance of a year ago. He whistles as he 
works, and it is noticeable that the air he 
chooses is that of a stirring Christian En- 
deavor hymn. 

Philip Barton stands behind his lathe, as 

sturdy and strong as ever. The same old light 
222 


AT THE CHAPEL DOOR 


223 


is in his face; only it has deepened in in- 
tensity. Every man and youth in the shop 
loves him, and it is difficult to compute the 
measure of the influence he wields. 

A glance at Mr. Weston shows no marked 
change. There is a kindlier light in his eye 
than formerly, and the old cynical smile visits 
his lip less frequently. 

Ralph also looks much the same, with the 
exception of a deeper thoughtfulness now 
marking brow and eyes. 

We will glance at Philip Barton some hours 
later. 

He is standing at the door of the mission 
chapel on Canal Street. He does not seem 
to notice the persons who pass him, from time 
to time, as they enter the church. His gaze 
is fixed upon the street, and presently he gives 
a satisfied exclamation, as a tall figure turns 
in and joins him. 

It is Fred Lewis. 

“I ’m glad that I promised to come/’ 
Lewis says, glancing with curiosity towards 


224 


PHILIP PAP TON’S SERCET 


the window, out of which comes the sound of 
music. 

“And I am glad you have kept your prom- 
ise,” Barton rejoins. 

“I do n’t know much about the things they 
tell of in there,” Fred continues, indicating the 
chapel by a nod of his head, “but I will be glad 
to know more. Ever since that night when 
Mr. Ralph kept me from jumping off the old 
pier I have wanted to learn the secret that 
turned you, all of a sudden, into a new man.” 

Philip laughs in a low, pleased way, and his 
face is quite radiant as he says: 

“It is a good secret to know, Fred.” 

“It must be,” his companion rejoins, look- 
ing intently into his eyes. “Unless your face 
lies, you have been about the happiest fellow, 
since that time, that I ever saw.” 

Again Barton laughs; but before he can re- 
ply, Ralph Weston joins them. 

“Am I late?” he asks, with a glance towards 
the chapel windows. 

“No. Just in time,” Philip replies. “They 


AT THE CHAPEL DOOR 


225 


are now holding a prayer and song service; 
but it is the sermon I specially want you 
and Fred to hear. The minister is a young 
man, not much older than you.” 

Ralph smiles a little sadly, as he says: “His 
life must have been spent very differently from 
mine. It makes me heartsick, now, to look 
back and see the wasted years.” 

“I can clasp hands with you on that,” Philip 
rejoins, and Fred adds, with deep pathos: 

“Yet both of your lives have been saintly, 
compared with mine.” 

The bell sounds, and quite a tide of wor- 
shipers pass through the gate. 

As Philip leads the way towards the chapel 
door, Ralph remarks: 

“I have never been inside of a church to 
listen to a sermon since I was a boy.” A mo- 
ment later, he adds: “How my father would 
stare to see me here to-night!” 

“I wish he was with you,” Barton rejoins, 
wistfully. “I had half a mind to invite him, 
but I felt it would be useless.” 


226 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


“I think you are mistaken/’ Ralph says, in 
a low voice, as they mount the steps. “You 
have more influence over him than you know. 
I believe, if you ask him, he will come.” 

And he did; not once, but many, many 
times. 

That was a wonderful service held in the 
little chapel that night. Ralph and Fred never 
forgot the text: “Come, now, and let us reason 
together, saith the Lord. Though your sins 
be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; 
though they be red like crimson, they shall 
be as wool.” 

Nor did the memory of one of the hymns 
they sung ever fade from their recollection. 

Afterwards, Fred Lewis could repeat it, 
word for word, as it had stamped itself upon 
his heart in that supreme hour: 

“Do you want pardon? do you want peace? 

Do you want sorrow and sighing to cease? 

Look to the Lord, who died on the tree; 

Jesus can save you, for he saved me. 


AT THE CHAPEL DOOR 


227 


Living beneath the shade of the cross ; 

Counting the jewels of earth but as dross; 
Cleansed in the blood that flowed from his side, 
Jesus redeems you; for you he died. 

Do you want strength? — take part in the fight. 
Do you want cleansing? — then walk in the light. 
Would you from sin be rescued, and free? 

Jesus can help you, for he helped me. 

Let the dear Savior reign in your soul; 

Plunge in the fountain, and you shall be whole. 

O what a wonderful Savior is he! 

Jesus can cleanse you, for he cleansed me.” 

And then came the refrain, which never 
failed to bring a mist to Fred’s eyes as he 
sang it: 

“Wonderful grace! how it satisfies me! 

Wonderful mercy so rich and so free! 

Would you a child of the covenant be? 

Jesus can save you — he sweetly saves me.” 

The day that Ralph Weston threw in his 
lot with the people of God, he said to Barton, 
after referring to that night in the chapel: 
"But your life, Philip, was the sermon that 


228 


PHILIP BARTON'S SECRET 


first set me to thinking. That, and the happy 
light in your face, made me hungry to learn 
the secret that filled you with perpetual joy.” 

Verily, one human heart, however hum- 
ble, if wholly yielded to God, becomes a dy- 
namo of Divine power. 

Christ fills that soul — is incarnated in that 
life. Is it any wonder that the glory of his 
presence shines through the veil of flesh, until 
scoffers are forced to take notice of the in- 
effable sweetness and beauty that permeate 
such a life? 

Well might Philip Barton say, in humility 
and adoring awe: 

“I am nothing; less than nothing. 'Christ 
is all; all in all/ ” He has learned the stupen- 
dous truth Paul gives us in Galatians ii, 20: 

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I 
live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: 
and the life which I now live in the flesh I live 
BY THE FAITH OF THE SON OF GOD, who 
loved me, and gave himself for me.” 


A Child of Nature 


BY 

ABNER THORP, M. D. 



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In League With Israel 


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ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

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AT LAST 


BY 

MARIA ELSIE LANDER 


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One Rich Man’s Son 


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